An Eternal Kiss [IC]
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Extreme =&gt; Extreme Small Groups =&gt; Topic started by: Phyrfaerie on 04-04-2011, 09:26:19</h2>
		<dl id="posts">
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>An Eternal Kiss [IC]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Phyrfaerie</strong> on <strong>04-04-2011, 09:26:19</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				~Setting~<br><br>(http://i98.photobucket.com/albums/l277/phyrfaerie/DarkCityscape.jpg)<br><br>(http://i98.photobucket.com/albums/l277/phyrfaerie/CitySetting.jpg)<br><br><br>~~ <br><br>Welcome to the city of Cardinal, a gritty and dirty dot on the map between Gotham and Aarkam. The city is dark, even in the hot punishment of full day. Its a city that dosent ever sleep, Cardinal holds strategic interest for the withered Tower whelps and the Mighty Sword. The bishop, one Malkavian Anti named MacKoy, has selected a handful of his flocks to patrol the borders of Cardinal. The single goal is to hold the line against the weakened and crumbling Tower, and assure Sabbat domination in this area. To this end, messengers were sent out, with the recipents recieving their own hand written invitations, telling them to all meet at the Brewery. <br><br><br>~~<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: An Eternal Kiss [IC]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Phyrfaerie</strong> on <strong>05-04-2011, 04:01:41</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Karma stood at a height of five feet two inches, when she was straight up, which was never. Her hair, normally worn in a low bun was down this evening, hanging down to her waist. Her lithe form was covered by a tank top that was cut off at the midriff, and a pair of black cammo pants with the top seam ripped out, where her tail lashed agitatedly back and forth. Her feet were housed in her boots, Doc Martins with the steel toes showing in the nooks and cracks of the scuffs. Her hands were encased in black leather gloves, with the fingers cut out.&nbsp; her face was whited out, using the white pancake of the stage to mute the odd colored spots in her skin. Over all of her clothes, there was a loose black trench coat, the kind that swishes over her boots, with a large hood that was lined with fur. What little skin showed was tawny in color, with more of the same spotting pattern across it. She paced back and forth, her topaz eyes glittering in the low light, as she waited at the Brewery. She had the invite on her person, though was leery about joining up with another pack so soon after the demise of her first one. Still, the Bishop had asked for her personally, and she had not enough clout to defy a direct order. She paced like a junkie in need of a fix, awaiting the rest of her would be pack. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: An Eternal Kiss [IC]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Blitzy</strong> on <strong>05-04-2011, 21:42:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The shadows in the alleyway beside the Brewery writhed momentarily, a slow roll of Abyss and a dash of chill air, before Havoc slid from within their tender grasp. They clung for a moment to her shoulders, along her neck, before they vanished completely back into their natural state as she moved away from them. <br><br>Her hands slid down into the pockets of her black jeans, pushing them further down her hips, where the belt managed to keep them from falling off her body and slipping down. They were low enough that flesh was visible between the base of her plain black t-shirt, though the t-shirt itself had numerous holes and rips in it to bare flesh along her arms, chest, stomach, and back. It looked like she'd been clawed or knifed while wearing it. <br><br>Her dark hair was pulled up away from her face, baring her neck, though there was a thick black 'collar' around her throat. No ring or decoration, just a solid stripe of leather that covered all of her throat. It almost appeared to be a posture collar but it wasn't quite that size. Along her wrists were leather bracers that had thin razorblades sewn in and attached to them. The heavy shitkicker boots upon her feet hid another few blades. Hanging at her hip was a scythe, though it had a shorter handle than most, with the blade dully gleaming beneath a thin coat of grime and old blood. She did not try to hide it, standing out in the open with her weaponry visible, as though she didn't give a fuck. And likely, she didn't at all.<br><br>Her gaze went to the Gangrel, for could she be anything but?, and there was a slight incline of her head in acknowledgment though she didn't say a word just yet. Her gaze sweeping around for signs of any others, studying the streets, even as her dark hair seemed to move in an unfelt wind. The shadows within the semi-tangled strands coming to life, drawn by her call, and mostly just because the shadows were comforting in a suddenly strange situation. A new Pack, new Cainites, and new hungers would pull soon betwixt the group... the anticipation was like a drug, pouring through her system, and making her both nervous and excited. <br><br>The nights, she thought, would be anything but boring.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: An Eternal Kiss [IC]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hellion000</strong> on <strong>05-04-2011, 21:58:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Hunkered and crouched down, his lithe and hideous frame draped with several layers of clothing and dirt, Maw could have been mistaken for a soon to be unlucky street bum were it not for the grotesque features that sprouted watchfully from the layers of clothing or the wicked implements of dismemberment that were at his feet. That was good. It was right. Let others stand in the spotlight, and he'd remain unnoticed until it was time.<br><br>Maw was lurking in the shadows, though he wasn't bothering with the application of Obfuscate to keep himself hidden. He rarely used that particular aspect of the Discipline, after all. the Nosferatu was wearing his Beast of War visage tonight, and his barely present lips curled into a sneer as the Lasombra appeared from netherwhere.<br><br>His sharp gaze swiveled across the meeting place, examining the approaching Lick casually. She didn't seem a threat, but then again, neither did Karma until she was ripping your throat out. Better to assume the worst then.<br><br>The slender, tall creature fingered the two large weapons at his feet, and smiled. The items were pilfered from a supply company that offered goods to fire departments&nbsp; with more money than sense, and represented quite a bit more than just weaponry to the Nosferatu. Titanium-carbide heads from cutting edge fire axes had been detached from the composite material they'd come with and remounted on fire hardened and epoxy coated wooden axe handles whose bottom ends were sharpened into stakes for use against Kindred and Vampires alike.<br><br>There was something brewing, but he didn't know what. All he knew was that Karma wanted him there, and it was unlikely to end in battle. The little mini civil war the Sabbat had gone through was still fresh enough in the minds of the Archbishops, and none of them wanted to risk further waste of their preambulatory resources against one another. So, the blades were there as a deterrent, not an incentive. Of course, that begged the answer to why he was present, but... soon enough.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: An Eternal Kiss [IC]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nykteus</strong> on <strong>06-04-2011, 01:32:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Konstantin was rather impressed, for while he considered the Bishop to be simply another one of those infirm wretches that had no right to lead he could not help but be pleased with such a formal invitation. He had a weakness for those little rituals of courtly etiquette, though he considered it to be a refinement that marked him as more than a mere ape, unlike some of the Cainites. It did mean that he was forced to forego an evening that he had set aside to peruse a rather interesting new monograph on the advantages of modern technology in the authentication of certain early Noddist works and playing with his newest toy, but both the reading and the girl would have to wait, it would have been more than dangerous to ignore such an invitation, it would have been rude. The fear of the sun and the stake were hardly to compare to the thoughts of social disgrace.<br><br>He took his time choosing a face, deft fingers moulding and mingling his features until he was satisfied, having decided upon a face that was handsome, with a touch of angelic innocence. He was not beyond the predilection for wearing a monstrous face when the mood suited, but he found that such ostentatious displays of inhumanity seemed to betray an insecurity that was all too human. He was not a fool, however, and beneath his skin there were more than a few subtle alterations to help keep him alive in such dangerous nights.<br><br>He chose an outfit from his rather expansive wardrobe, settling upon a suit a rather nice earth tone that he thought to complement his slightly bronzed complexion and thick brown curls rather well. He had to lay it out himself, making a note to see to replacing his valet. His rosary, the beads and Sabbat ankh painstakingly shaped from his own bone, were slipped over his neck before the white shirt, and then it was on with the suit, satisfied that his new shape was an ideal fit for the garments. It left for nothing but the sapphire set in golden filigree to fasten the shirt at the throat, and then he slipped on the long frock coat, and it was off to the door. He pulled on the soft leather gloves and picked up his cane while standing in the hallway, casting a parting glance over his shoulder before he departed his lair, trusting in his pets to mind the townhouse in his absence.<br><br>The journey across the city was not so brief as he might have wished, but he was careful not to let it trouble him, even if he did sometimes hate being among the cattle. He knew better than to pay too much attention to his moods, and placed his uneasiness down to the vagueness of the invitation, or summons, and his own ponderances as to what it might mean. When he approached the small gathering of those who had arrived earlier than him, instinct bade him to let his senses grow sharper, letting his mind sort out as much as it could about the others. He might have wondered why the others were so heavily armed, for even his cane was little more than a length of fine rosewood capped with silver, and even the woman who smelled of feline and bat could quite likely have had some wicked implement hidden beneath her coat.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: An Eternal Kiss [IC]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Rishon Tam</strong> on <strong>06-04-2011, 02:10:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Lawrence Keane made his way to the Brewery with little ceremony. Moderately paced, confident footfalls carried him along the sidewalk, with his hands tucked into the pockets of a blazer that was nice, but hardly ostentatiously so. The blazer was fairly representative of his person, with his slacks, hair, and even his poise possessed of a delicate, muted dignity.<br><br>The night was comfortably cool, and the walk gave him time to think. After the debacle up north had brought the final death on his old pack's priest, he'd seen fit to move on, and he wasn't sure if it was despite or because of the instability that resulted from the loss of his mentor. Kris had known what s/he was doing, guiding him as he sought to adopt the new Path that was meant to govern his dealings with the beast within him, and he'd made a great deal of progress under his or her tutelage. With Kris dead, though, it left Keane dangerously adrift with a partially-completed transition. His old pack might have been able to help, but the survivors were struggling enough just to maintain a reputable presence, given the losses they'd been handed.<br><br>It was better to start clean. A new pack was risky, of course, but if he drew the right packmates, he stood to have a better chance of making it through the adjustment period to the new way of being with his higher processes intact.<br><br>He nodded politely as he drew close to the others, but chose not to break the silence with a spoken greeting. From the carriage of the assembled, there seemed to be something almost sacred in the silence as they awaited the next step, and Keane held a strong respect for the sacred, even if his conception of sanctity had changed considerably over the past year.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: An Eternal Kiss [IC]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Job</strong> on <strong>06-04-2011, 07:12:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Doyle was running late, as always.&nbsp; Or how did the line go?&nbsp; 'Doyle is never late.&nbsp; He always arrives right when he means to.'&nbsp; It could never be more true about the Cainite; he seemed to have unimaginable luck when it came to timing.&nbsp; Tonight, however, was a little of both...<br><br>The step-child of the Sabbat in Cardinal, Doyle, emerged from the shadows a block from the Brewery.&nbsp; He wiped at the corners of his mouth, checking the handkerchief for blood.&nbsp; Satisfied at the sight of clean cloth he pushed his knit-cap down a little more and hunkered his shoulders.&nbsp; Your stereotypical thug strut was the gait he used to move onto the Brewery.&nbsp; He'd check his watch and note the time which would cause him to stop.&nbsp; "Fucking bulllshit meetings."&nbsp; He pulled out a banged up pack of Lucky Strikes; how he wished he could actually have nicotine again.&nbsp; Flipping it onto his lower lip he produced a flameless lighter and cherried the end of the cigarette.&nbsp; He pushed his back up against the building wall and waited, looking up to the starless sky as he enjoyed the smoke.&nbsp; "Let the kids get their kicks in first, I s'pose.&nbsp; Show up mid-intros and we should be golden.&nbsp; Bloody Bishops."&nbsp; He mumbled to himself.<br><br>Doyle often dressed in an urban fashion, like a type of camouflage.&nbsp; Hoodies and sweatshirts, tees and wifebeaters, loose jeans, chains, work boots where all a part of the armor he wore out in the kine nightlife.&nbsp; He looked the part of 1950's mobster crossed with an Aryan Brotherhood inmate.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: An Eternal Kiss [IC]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Phyrfaerie</strong> on <strong>06-04-2011, 08:11:20</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<div align="center">(http://i98.photobucket.com/albums/l277/phyrfaerie/Parker-Posey_l.jpg)</div><br>The low sounds of night crept up, what little words were stolen as a false silence fell over the Cainites. Those that had ever been near or in the Bishop's presence had felt such a deadly calm. Caustic made his body known through the silent night, Standing in the middle of the street, he surveyed each one and then nodded, heading toward the Brewery.<br><br>The Brewery was a nice enough bar, all in all. It was low lit, in the ass end of the city. The main entrance housed a running stream of low end clientele, the kind that werent missed for at least a week. In this neighborhood, one didnt ask too many questions. The waitresses, kine blood dolls all, served at spies, lookouts and the like, falling under the sway of the Bishop. The 'mite watched them all enter the building, pausing on Havoc's knives. In a tight voice, he drops his Quietis, grunting at her, " At least have the smarts to not have weapons in sight in front of the Bishop." Having fulfilled his help an idiot quota for the year, he narrowed his eyes as he entered ,closing the door behind them. The tables were arranged in such a fashion as to completely clog up a floor. What few determined drunks were sitting at the bar were too far gone in their poison of choice to notice anything other then the bottom of their cups.<br><br>&nbsp;The group was guided across the floor toward a door,which led downstairs to the basement. A blood doll awaited them at the bottom of the stairs, dressed in nothing, save for the silver nipple rings and a black G string. She looked terrified, the blood on her chest obviously fresh and from those piercings, if anyone was to guess. She trembled violently, reeking of her failed courage; opening the door from the inside. She stepped to the side, allowing entrance into the Bishop's presence. <br><br>Wearing Dolcce Gabahana six inch glittering spike heels, the Brujah Bishop smoothed a wrinkle out of her black skirt, and kicked up her feet onto the coffee table, watching them come in from the luxury of a black leather chair. Her diminutive chest was clothed in a gauzy button down shirt, clearly displaying perk nipples on soft mounds. Wrapped around the cold dead skin of her neck was an antiquated fox stole, and her silver eyes looked at them with deadly interest. A motion made it possible for them to all find a place to sit down, lean against, perch or otherwise settle in the lavish space. There were several overstuffed chairs surrounding a large marble coffee table in the sitting area.&nbsp; Soft light spilled into the room from the few standing lamps located in the corners of the room. Across the floor space were two doors, leading off into perpendicular paths. <br><br>Once they were all settled, she spoke in a rich, cultured and bored tone. " Your Bishop has need of your services." She kicked her feet down and smiled a toothy grin, her fangs flashing in the low light. " As you all know nothing of one another, speak who you are, and what you can bring to the table."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: An Eternal Kiss [IC]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Xanatos</strong> on <strong>07-04-2011, 07:51:03</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Memories flooded Amber's mind, of only a month past; she had found her pack dead, skillfully killed or butchered (depending on point of view), in their own den save for one other who had not been at the den like her. She had been thoroughly questioned as well as her fellow pack mate. She was found innocent and left to her own devices until the Bishop assigned her to a pack. The loss had been enough for her to feel several moments loss for some of the more civilized of her pack, and it brought her a few days worth of loss for Derek, her sire. While she had loved him in a morbid fashion, he was just another man to be replaced. <br><br>Flipping the letter to its back side, Amber sighed a bored sigh and looked up to Damon - her first ghoul. Damon stood silently, rigid, tall, sexy, loyal like a love sick puppy waiting for its masters affection. Amber smirked at the thought of a love sick puppy, remembering years back when she was but a meager Kine; when her parents had gifted her with a Golden Retriever puppy, remembering how it slobbered and peed on everything. Damon wasn't anything like that, at least not the slobbering and peeing. <br><br>"Oh my dearest, dearest Damon, ghoul of thine vitae, how manly and pathetic you are all at once." Amber gave him a "tisk" and a wave of her finger. He stared at her intently, waiting for what she might do. She liked to change things up and often kept him guessing. This time she did nothing as she tossed the letter aside, with the flick of her wrist, and beckoned him to follow with the inclination of her finger. In her luxurious room, full of a menagerie of sharp objects, many among the kind that only sadistic murders would find joyful was Nia, a sultry Indian. Former exchange student, Nia had been snatched up by Amber years ago. Her dark milk chocolate skin and pitch black hair was enamoring. Her deeply satisfying body, curvy and full of features that incited the most lascivious thoughts in both men and women. The ghoul sat on the ground where she had been left by Amber, obediently not having moved a muscle.<br><br>"Nia, love, time to play. Damon, have fun with Nia while I'm gone. Be nice to each other." Amber licked her lips at the thoughts of the two going at each other, then turned and left. Her thoughts immediately went to the meeting location and what might she find among its indoctrinated and or morbidly terrified Kine puppets. She had been there once before, for the meeting of her area's Bishop after having become a True Sabbat. The Kine were so afraid, cowed, dull, unexciting. The real Kine, the oblivious heart beaters, were the delightful ones. <br><br>Arriving in an unassuming Dodge, Amber stepped out dressed quite unlike a Toreador; wearing black jeans and a simple white shirt. Derek had taught her not to be so garish when among other Kindred. They couldn't even begin to fathom nor appreciate the finer side of undeath and thus should not be tempted, unless unavoidable or in an uncaring mood, to loath a Pervert. Regardless of the dressed down appearance, Amber was still the best looking creature in the vicinity. Her body refused to surrender its appeal, its salacious sway as she strode into the brewery and right up to the bar.<br><br>Running her slender hand through her silky brown hair, she caught a peak of the cute yet feisty Gangrel and the others who had assembled. She didn't see any other Toreador, a shame, she thought. At least she noted several Losombra; they at least were civilized. Her eyes almost went wide at the sight of the body sculptor, disgusting, was her immediate reaction. Seventeen years as a vampire wasn't even close to long enough to get used to them. Gangrel were dirty, unkempt, but at least still attractive (generally speaking). With a barely visible sneer, Amber was about to order the dull blood, even if it came directly from a live blood doll, when the group was then directed deeper into the structure.<br><br>As they entered the Bishop's room, the immediate sight of the ghastly Brujah caught her eyes. Averting her sight from the eighties abominable fashion, Amber took a few fluid steps to a seat and slowly melted into it without much thought into her action, crossing her lef over the other. Giving a few tactful glances to the others she then peered upon the aged Brujah, "waiting to be awed" by the elder.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: An Eternal Kiss [IC]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Winterborn</strong> on <strong>08-04-2011, 02:51:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Arriving behind the rest on a rumbling Harley street cruiser, Billy Mac, Pander, True Sabbat and Beast of the Feral Heart, took his time getting downstairs. His movements were slow and careful as he parked his bike at the curb and slid from the seat, then pulled his black leather jacket tight across his broad shoulders. To him, there was no early or late, there was only the successful meeting between hunter and hunted; if he missed an opportunity now, there would be one at a later time. Not for him the mad scramble for any mission that might see him rise in rank or prestige, which many other Panders made a trope of their clan. He had all the time in the world to satisfy his ambition.<br><br>Slowly scanning the rundown area, he slid one bare hand over his chin to smooth the close-cropped beard there, the other checking the nine-inch blade of blackened steel sheathed on his broad belt. That held up his stone-washed denim jeans, neatly cuffed over tight-laced black combat boots. To top it all off, he positively reeked of Old Spice. The entire ensemble was the stereotypical outlaw biker costume, the same sort of thing he would have worn while living, but now of much higher quality; his urban disguise, as comfortable to him as naked skin would have been, but far more useful given his current hunting grounds.<br><br>Turning his eyes on the Brewery, he inhaled deeply, taking the scent of the bar and its patrons, ignoring those signs which were not useful to him and casually separating each of those he wanted. Fear, of course, mixed heavily with human lust, a smell he thought of as greasy, not robust or attractive. Personally, he despised any edifice controlled by his kind as they were imperfect feeding grounds; certainly, one could find a meal easily enough. Too easily, since all you had to do was snap your fingers and a dozen blood dolls would throw themselves on your teeth. That might be the best of pleasures for some Cainites, but the creature known as Billy Mac found himself incredibly bored by the prospect, and he hadn't even taken his first step toward the front door.<br><br>He was attracting attention, a lone biker standing there, statue-still as he stared at the bar's facade. No good. Unhurried, he started moving, walking towards the door with a loping stride. Inside, a short pause as he turned his invitation over to the watchdog, down the stairs, past the trembling female without a glance, and into the meeting room. He flicked his eyes around, making no introduction of himself as he scanned the group and the Bishop in her chair. To this last he gave a faint nod before sliding to the fringe of the meeting, patient to let others have their turn and reveal what might be vital information to him. He was not all that late, after all, as the very air spoke of an unanswered query. He had no way to respond, so he would let others do it for him.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: An Eternal Kiss [IC]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Blitzy</strong> on <strong>08-04-2011, 03:38:24</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Havoc paused in every movement when she heard the lack of sound. There was not a breath, a blink, a twitch given as she waited for the assassin to show himself. There wasn't a long wait, nor was it disappointing, as the Assamite appeared in the middle of the street. Havoc's gaze slid along him for a moment, gaze catching and holding as she scanned him for weapons before her attention would shift to the others in the group. A faint pause, a narrowing of her eyes, as she took in the various types of Cainites who were also approached to be here.. She wasn't overly critical, not yet, as she had no true idea of what was about to happen. <br><br>There was a moment of lingering upon the Nosferatu that clung in the shadows as she should've. She didn't seem overly disgusted, perhaps she had enough dealings with the Nosferatu that they didn't disgust her in the same way, or mayhap she was simply very, <em>very</em> good at hiding her distaste. Either way, her gaze shifted away from him and finally landed on Doyle. There was a moment of flickering recognition, her head cocking to the side, as she took in his appearance. There was the faintest thrum of the Vaulderie between the two of them, a lingering bond from years past, though it had diminished over the decade-plus that it had been. Were he to glance her way she'd give him the faintest of up-nods and a press of fingers over her heart momentarily, before she looked back to Caustic as they moved into the Brewery.<br><br>"There is no disrespect intended, as you should know. When do you see me without my weapons, Caustic? The Bishop is well aware that they are part of me, especially when I am on the prowl as I was tonight. It was either I bring them with me or be late to the meeting. I have a feeling there would be more trouble for me if I were to be late." She was respectful, but she wasn't backing down in taking them off, so she decided to check for the option of hiding them. She glanced around the bar and happened to see a female trying to be tough, wearing a leather jacket and her head shaved. As the group made their way into the depths of the Brewery, Havoc procured the jacket from the female with but a smirk and a shift of the shadows around her, adding to her intimidation. She shouldered the jacket on, feeling the heavy weight settle upon her shoulders, and it was just long enough that it hid most of her weapons. <br><br>As they passed the blood doll Havoc gave her a lingering look. Eyes focusing down on the blood that dripped, a little smirk curving her unpainted mouth, even as her tongue danced along the fangs that were currently making their presence known for a moment. She settled down into the area, glancing towards the Bishop, and showing her appreciation and respect in both body language and expression. There was no doubt that Havoc was a good soldier of the Sword, respecting her Bishop, whether she agreed with her or not. <br><br>"I am Havoc, formerly of KiS, Rowdy Dogs, and, most recently, Caine's Fist. I bring to the table strong command of the Abyss along with my skills with any bladed weapon, plus the desire to see our territory claimed fully and completely with the Tower burned to the ground." Her voice was husky, deeper than usually expected given her delicate features; she had a jazz voice, a voice that drew you, and helped with making her words feel more honest and open. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: An Eternal Kiss [IC]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Nykteus</strong> on <strong>08-04-2011, 23:21:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Bathing in the inhuman sensitivity of the blood, Konstantin found his naturally critical eye appraising the surrounding vampires like raw material, a craftsman simply pondering on imperfections and imagining possibilities for improvements. Like an undertaker he had a well honed talent for appraising such factors as the height, weight, and breadth of an individual to an uncanny degree of accuracy, which was helpful, since he could always craft a few suitable simulacra of them from ghouls in order to experiment with a few possibilities. While he did rather enjoy a touch of the sadism that was necessity to preserve one's sanity, he was often only too eager to drop the facade of a fiendish monstrosity in order to get down to his beloved work, which usually involved finding new ways to twist flesh and minds beyond anything a loving God could ever have wished to inflict upon them.<br><br>It was while he was eyeing up the inventory, listening to the rustle of clothing, the twitch of the Gangrel's tail, the distant rumble of traffic, the fluttering of moths around the street lamps, the scuttling of vermin on the Nosferatu's hide, that silence fell over them, all the more shocking for the rich tapestry of sound it so greedily swallowed up. He frowned, taking in the Assamite with the customarily calm, collected manner of one who had little tolerance for being unpleasantly surprised but unwilling to express such distaste without an especially good assurance of emerging victorious from any following conflict, and a good few contingencies just in case. He might have been imperious and egotistical, but he did have a sharp survival instinct that held a rather strong veto on the rest of his narcissistic psyche when the possibility of being lunch for a pack of lesser beings was still viable.<br><br>He followed in the group trailing inside, flicking his cane up to tuck it under his arm as he plucked at the fingertips of his gloves, easing them off his hands as he strolled through the crowd. Normally he rather enjoyed taking the time to appreciate pretty young women, one of the more implacable sort of demands his particular Beast was prone to making. A lifetime spent cautiously avoiding women, and were it not for the fact that very few young ladies had a tendency to sleep in diaphonous white gowns and sleep with windows open, he'd certainly have gotten into a lot more trouble. Not that they were his type, of course, he was jealously territorial when it came to his toys, and he had no use for those that had been tarnished by the world. Still, the scent of blood and fear mingled in a heady cocktail drew his attention, and a warm, angelic smile, although that ever critical part of his mind was a little disappointed in such an amateurish use of such a fine piece of material.<br><br>He shrugged off his coat, tucked his gloves into the pocket, and draped it and his cane over the girl's arms, not taking the time to see if she caught them. Servants who failed to be attentive were simply not a phenomenon he was cognisant of. He entered the Bishop's presence with a respectful nod. He had a tendency to respect a station as much as its occupant, but he adhered to a courtly decorum if only because it was in a Fiend's nature to support any trappings of power that could turned to his own advantage. Showing due deference to an Elder could translate into authority, with care and proper opportunism. He was in no meed to speak first, however, taking his usual moment to see which of them might feel the first need to assert dominance.<br><br>Well, it was hardly surprising when the Lasombra leapt to seize the wheels of power, and he could hardly be surprised by the inevitable. He waited a beat or two in order to see if any immediate rivalry might emerge, and took a step forward from where he leaned against the wall. He assayed a brief, slight bow, dipping with fluid grace although he kept his eyes locked firmly onto the Bishop's own gaze for those few brief moments, it was never wise to be show that much vulnerability to any Cainite. The voice was unnaturally pure and clear, even spoken with that unmistakeable Slavic accent. "Your Excellency,&nbsp; I Vladimir Konstantin, of the blood of Tzimisce." The formal introduction over, he carried on, clasping his hands behind his back. "I am a scholar. I have learned the ritae and lore of this grand Sabbat, the history of our descent from Caine, and, of course, a habit for inventing new and interesting ways of dealing with our enemies." He rather liked those times, when he could play with another Cainite and get away with it. Ghouls were never as much fun. "For the good of Her Excellency's needs, I may offer to lend my education in the metamorphic arts to the improvement of others, although I do happen to also be rather good at taking a long time and a lot of words to express rather simple concepts, in a number of languages."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: An Eternal Kiss [IC]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Winterborn</strong> on <strong>10-04-2011, 01:40:15</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Billy stood, listening carefully to what the others had to say. So, introductions was it? He could handle that. Taking a pack of Reds from his jacket's breast pocket, he tapped on out and lit it while the others made their greeting. He smoked like a fiend, just a habit of the old days that he never felt the need to give up; it was part of his disguise anyway, especially around the bikers, since if he quit cold turkey they'd all take notice. Once he had a good cherry going, he flicked his Zippo closed and exhaled through his nose.<br><br>"Billy Mac Pipersson, only survivin' member of the Southern Cross pack. Given time, I can get anythin' from Glocks to plastique explosives, and if we range down South I can get a helluva lot more." Taking another drag, he spoke through the acrid fumes pouring from his mouth with every syllable. Looking to the others one by one down the line, he crossed his arms loosely over his chest before adding, "Oh yeah, I'm a Pander too. Just in case you got a problem with havin' a Mutt in the gang. Proud of it, and I ain't no one's bitch, so don't get any ideas 'bout makin' me yours. You try that road, I'll be the one fuckin' you in the ass."<br><br>His parting words were entirely without heat, but it was obvious he meant it sincerely from the way he turned to meet every pair of eyes as he spoke, not cowed in the slightest by the Bishop's presence or that the rest of them were members of a clan. The law having been laid down, at least for the moment, he gave the Bishop a respectful nod and took a short step backward, making it clear he had said his piece. If that wasn't enough of a challenge to the assembled Cainites, he wasn't True Sabbat.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: An Eternal Kiss [IC]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Hellion000</strong> on <strong>10-04-2011, 02:25:54</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Maw watched as the others trickled in, and finally rose to his feet to follow. He stood up, and seemed to continue to rise for some time. By the time he was standing erect, the Nosferatu stood closer to seven feet than six, though he was painfully thin. Nothing clung to his bones but corded, lean muscle and pallid skin with a sallow tint, though not much more than his hands and face could be seen.<br><br>The two axes came with him, their metal heads gleaming coldly in the dim light.As they walked towards and then into the bar, he let the large and conspicuous weapons be openly seen. Just before stepping in to see the Bishop, he let the two weapons slide from his grasp to lean against the wall near the door. It was unlikely that any of the Kine would have the audacity to touch them, after all.<br><br>He closely examined the Doll, but the alien landscape of his features made it difficult to tell exactly what he thought about her, her breasts, or the blood running down her chest. Of course it was a given that, since he was clearly a Lick, he didn't have any real need for her exposed breasts and it was equally given that he did have use for the Vitae staining them. That was the trap set by the Bishop, and he approved with a barely perceptible nod. It was typical of an elder Lick of his stature to set a trap in the form of a greeting.<br><br>Layers within layers, wheels within wheels, and plots within plots. Ignoring the woman entirely was a display of rudeness and fear that the Bishop would exploit later. Paying undue attention to her breasts was a display of Humanity and sexual interest that the Bishop would exploit later. Paying undue attention to the Vitae was a display of weakness and hunger that the Bishop would exploit later. Maw gave the Kine just enough attention- he hoped- to place himself somewhere in the middle of the three axii of danger set by the Bishop, and then turned his attention around the room.<br><br>He knew Karma, of course. She wasn't ignored, per se, but there was nothing to garner from examining her again. The Lasombra got another once over, a closer examination of her clothing and demeanor. A member of her Clan in street clothing bespoke a young and rebellious Vampire who- while worthy of the Blood- wasn't quite ready to settle in and serve the interests of her Elders.<br><br>A too pretty Vampire wearing religious trappings with the Sabbat's icon? A Fleshcrafter, most likely. The prettiness was the first clue, but even the Lasombra weren't typically so proud of their status as members of the Sabbat as to openly parade the iconography like the male in question was. So, one of the eastern European bastards, in the flesh.<br><br>The well dressed quiet one was tricky. Really tricky... there was nothing there to work with, but the Nosferatu closely examined him nonetheless. Maybe he was Ventrue? He'd fit the mold well enough: quiet, self contained, and definitely in command of himself and the area around him. Until he saw something to make a more concrete determination on, he'd have to go with Ventrue then.<br><br>The woman in jeans and tee shirt was pegged as a Brujah or maybe a relatively unassuming Toreador based on her choice in clothing and vehicles. Like the supposed Ventrue there just wasn't enough to go on. The tag placed lightly in his mind, the Nosferatu allowed his gaze to scan over her for weapons before moving onto the next.<br><br>Up until the brash biker spoke and labeled himself a Pander- an admission that garnered a grunt laden with an interesting blend of feelings- Maw'd pegged him as a Brujah. The thin, nearly nonexistent lips that barely covered the mouthful of wicked fangs inside Maw's mouth peeled back in a sardonic grin that was equally admiring and mocking. On the one hand, it took balls to stand up in front of a bunch of True members of the Sabbat and offer to assfuck them. Huge balls indicative of a degree of bravery that was worthy of admiration. On the other hand, it was just as likely that it was bravado and not bravery. A self esteem issue that caused the undead biker to overcompensate. Either way, that one was worthy of watching.<br><br>Stepping lightly to a corner of the room, the undead monstrosity burrowed his back into a corner. Unlike the other Licks in the room- as far as he knew- he was the only one present who was legitimately at risk. When a Bishop commanded the physical presence of a Camarilla defector- even one whose defection was a closely guarded secret- there was something big afoot. Actually, now that he thought about it, the Recruit couldn't remember ever personally warranting the attention of a Bishop before. Sure, he'd seen them before- at various major Ritae that all members of the Sabbat attended regularly, but even during those festivals the high and mighty had never actually given him more than a single contempt filled gaze before dismissing him from their minds.<br><br>His fingers curled around the axe handles that weren't present, the comforting weight of the hafts missed. Catching the movement, he forced his hands to curl into complete fists in an attempt to hide the nervousness inherent in the motion. His empty, blank expression slowly moved about the room, sweeping from person to person in an attempt to garner more information.
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: An Eternal Kiss [IC]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Rishon Tam</strong> on <strong>10-04-2011, 17:55:51</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				When the Bishop called for introductions, Keane offered the others a measure of quiet deference, allowing the other, older vampires to announce their identities, skills, and accomplishments first. The introductions weren't a contest -- at least, not yet -- and he lost nothing by waiting for the most accomplished individuals to precede him. As meager as his importance was at this stage, few things could have made him seem of any less import than announcing his identity and credentials only to be followed by someone whose wealth of recognized ability struck all knowledge of him from the minds of the assembled.<br><br>Once the Pander had identified himself, Keane judged the timing appropriate. If nothing else, the subtly-invited comparison would accentuate the measure of calm, confident collectedness that set him apart from much of the sect's ruck and run.<br><br>"I am Lawrence Keane, Lasombra and survivor of the Muse Legion." His words flowed in a smooth, pleasing baritone with a distantly lyrical cadence. "I offer a respectable array of modest skills, specializing most in the gifts of my clan and short-term, tactical planning." With that, he inclined his head politely. "It is, of course, a great pleasure to meet all of you."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: An Eternal Kiss [IC]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Xanatos</strong> on <strong>10-04-2011, 20:06:37</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Greetings, they were to say the least, interesting. The brazen Pander was amusing, though Amber showed none of it; she wasn't the least bit afraid of him, nor the towering Nosferatu for that matter. She simply had learned not to make fun of other vampires if she wanted a chance at a long unlife. It baffled her how the Sabbat or Camarilla for that matter, could survive for so long with near open hostility between the clans. Sure, some got along okay, but most basically loathed each other and would have preferred their unlives not be stained by the existence of the others. By her reckoning, it was a miracle either organized faction still stood to pummel each other into a bloody pulp.<br><br>Regardless of a few misgivings, the Sabbat was for Amber. Those snot rags for Kindred Camarilla were so preoccupied with pretense that they forgot they were vampires and not long living mortals. Unlife was to be lived to its fullest and how could one do that hiding behind an antiquated concept such as a masquerade? They used it like a security blanket, peering out from under the covers to see if the big bad world had gone away. Despite the strong sentiment, however, Amber did hold a healthy respect for some of the Camarilla; the hunters among them were in fact the ones who butchered her pack, and would have ended her as well had she not been away at the time. <br><br>Giving Billy one last glance, she then noticed the Nosferatu eying her for a few moments. Nothing new there, she thought. He was either jealous of her looks, as some were (so torn over losing their Humanity in more than one way) or he was examining her strengths and trying to determine her clan origin; it brought her a minor joy when other Kindred couldn't tell she was Toreador. If anyone asked, however, she would not withhold her clan. Paying him no more heed, for the moment, she listened in to the young Lasombra. <br><br>Now he seemed nice. His voice was beautiful and showed skill in the art of manipulating words. He immediately impressed Amber. Without even moving her eyes enough to be noticed, she looked him over and decided he might be worth bedding, should he continue to impress. Amber didn't know much about the Lasombra though, they tended to stick to the shadows, favoring their magic over interaction with other clans or at least she was told so. She made a note to at least look into it with cautious steps. He seemed potentially worth some effort on her part so long as she came away with no strings attached. <br><br>Some Lasombra flesh could be delightful. Giving a possibly good change of scenery. Would it be delicious or would it bite back like some others she could think of? Then again, a good Brujah romp now and then was quite the devilish fun. Amber flashed Lawrence a courteous smile, hinted with a nearly imperceptible grin, inclining her head just as marginally in his direction. <br><br>Following up the humble Kindred, a refreshing change, Amber casually broached the subject required of them. "Amber, survivor of the Harpies Claw pack. I offer my skills as smooth talker for the purpose of beguiling our enemies, my skills as an interpreter; chiefly among German and French speaking nations, among a few other languages." There was a bit more to her, but she felt it unnecessary to reveal it all so soon. If the pack had need of it, she would offer her services when needed. 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: An Eternal Kiss [IC]</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Xanatos</strong> on <strong>12-04-2011, 23:46:23</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				<strong>GM Post</strong><br><br>After all of the introductions, as interesting as some were - in which the Bishop almost burst out in laughter at the poor pathetic little Pander. Half the room likely could cream him into a soupy mass of blood and flesh if they even had the slightest inclination. Shrugging the idea off like a drop of water sliding down a perfectly vertical wall, she peered at each one of the soon to be pack mates, investigating them each for herself. <br><br>She ignored the Pander, already having made up her mind about him. The Nosferatu was very interesting. Tall was her first impression. Even hunched over he was quite impressive in stature. She wondered if he was strong. Being tall didn't necessarily bring any advantage lest strength was there to back it up with; otherwise he would fall like an old tree in a fierce wind. <br><br>Moving her eyes next to the Gangrel, she smirked at how small the mouse vampire was; a striking contrast to that of the Ugly vampire. Though she was a mouse, the Bishop knew the ferocity contained within. Gangrel were beasts, as close as they got without succumbing to the true beast or being putrid Werewolves. A cute ferocious cuddly mouse perhaps? The smirk widened a moment at the thought. Karma would be interesting to observe.<br><br>Next she jumped over several vamps to peer at the pretty yet plain vampire. Gazing at her a moment she looked past the jeans and T-shirt and decided the vampire was a pervert. A smart pervert... She didn't flaunt her excessive ways in the faces of more conservative compatriots. Interesting. Part of the Bishop really wondered, though, if she was Toreador or just a gorgeous Brujah. Abruptly she broke off the stare and shrugged her shoulders, no matter, she thought. In time her clan heritage would come about proving the Bishop right or wrong.<br><br>The twp Lasombra were as to be expected, the younger male though seemed fresh, ripe, stinking of his Human days not so long past. He would get over them, learn to embrace the dark arts the Lasombra so valued and grow into his life as a vampire. The female was already embracing it and stank less of Humanity. Nothing else really caught her interest and so she moved on.<br><br>"Hmm," she breathed, as she grew bored of examining young Sabbat, not yet old enough to be fully rid of their useless Humanity. Thankfully she had looked at them all, not that it mattered though. If she chose to ignore someone, what would they do? Complain? <br><br>"Well, well, well, well. Now we all know one another. As vague as you all were." She commented dryly, flippantly raising her hand for not much reason. "Do any of you have anything extra to say? Otherwise we shall commence with the Vaulderie before I will reveal any morsels of why you have been brought together." 
			</dd>
		</dl>
		<div id="footer" class="smalltext">
			
			<span class="smalltext" style="display: inline; visibility: visible; font-family: Verdana, Arial, sans-serif;"><a href="https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?action=credits" title="Simple Machines Forum" target="_blank" class="new_win">SMF 2.0.19</a> |
 <a href="https://www.simplemachines.org/about/smf/license.php" title="License" target="_blank" class="new_win">SMF © 2021</a>, <a href="https://www.simplemachines.org" title="Simple Machines" target="_blank" class="new_win">Simple Machines</a>
			</span>
		</div>