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The Crafty Kin

World of Darkness

Far less mortal, the still unnamed crew sought the Grand Tourney, watched a legendary duel, won a chariot race, and delved into the secret haven of Eden. While there, they found the remains of a murder and an elevator that still had power. What next?


A Stroke of Midnight

Not all attended the tournament after party, choosing that time to get a few things done. One such fiend of the night kept his end of the bargain. Ducking the carousing of trolls in full plate singing songs of honor and battle, the drunkards of Maple Fire screaming chug in many languages few of them decipherable, and the guards failing to remain attentive on their watch, Fenris made a silent path with a couple hobgoblin and pooka friends. The darkling lord of wolves and ravens stopped, letting the shadows spill from his sleeves and pants over his friends. Their steps muffled as they sped past the flicking ears of the lady's hounds.

He might have laughed at the ease of their infiltration if it would not bring down the guards on his position. Reaching into a pocket, he felt the edge of metal and plastic, an iPhone with a simple pinstripe case and an annoying passcode. Preston's phone.

Flattening to the ground, becoming a thin writhing of shadows, Fenris slithered between the cracks of tiles and under doorways, trying to find where his second was kept. He spied guards enjoying a meal and sleeping, scholars reviewing tomes for the coming day, and the hand maidens of the baroness. This last he paused to listen to, catching mention of plans for the lady...things regarding the Greywarden.

I think not wench. Can't take a hint... Even Drewberry knew how little Preston cared for the woman, his intensions slighted and heart a bit crushed. He wouldn't forget. And neither would the wolf. Friends to the end. It will only end when blood is spilled.

After numberous turns in the gleaming halls of sand, the palace far too vibrant and posh for his liking, or for the rancid whore of a baroness, Drewberry finally found his friend. With a slithering hand, he unlocked the chamber, giving entry to the remaining goblins in his sted. Only two slitted eyes and gleaming sharp teeth in the dark announced his arrival.

"Finally, Fenris."

"Indeed. I have come to save the day. Now let's catch up on some Love Island."

The Greywarden groaned unable to escape. "Not it."


The Night Grows Darker

The pendulum swing of glowing lamp light careened with a flecking of seared red drops. The ravaged remains of a petty thug that stole a shipment stolen for Montrose twitched from nerves not quite dead yet. Taking up a powerwasher, he made short work of the mess, a couple other shadows slinking in with buckets of sand and cleansers. No one would find what remained, not even the piss from the other thieves watching their friend become...detached from limbs.

The click clack of heels alerted the Nosferatu of his 1am guest arriving, nothing of the scene marring that perfection of face. Despite undeath and shriveled loins, his blood stirred watching Rosalind smile at him. Gore must be commonplace for someone of the Sabbat, which left him hungering again for the vixen. Thankfully the night had few of her kind, lest he lose track of his work.

"On time as usual."

"You did stress the need for punctuality. And I brought what you asked for." Her black dress absorbed light, much like her eyes. Shark's eyes.

Montrose moved past, leaving his crew to their work, slipping into a coat and a new face. He gifted her a rare vision of his true face. She never flinched, only studied him openly. Forcing his thoughts back on track, he led her into a storage room, past wine bottles, to a modest desk and chairs. "Show me."

Settled into a chair opposite him, legs curling together, Rosalind opened a satchel at her side pulling free a series of files. "Victor sends his regards. From what we have tracked, Dorn has taken up much of Demorne's holdings, specifically in the east side. We collected business accounts from some helpful sources. These should provide a sizable target for your side of the battle. And all proceeds can filter into Benedic's hands."

Montrose flicked through the paperwork with an accountant's skill. Numbers and names a vertible maze, but of the usual order one expected of Ventrue. "And of course you are holding something back."

Light caught on the edge of leather heels. "Of course. I'm free for drinks and conversation anytime Benedic is."

Montrose looked over the top of the paperwork, collecting his thoughts. With a single nod, he reached for a phone on his desk and dialed a number.

3:04 am Charleston Tunnels

The streets remained dark, despite the glow of the strip in the distance. The light cast from street lights had flickered and died, driving Zack further and further until surrounded in a sea of night. He hadn't come across another living or dead soul for hours. The chill air caused every heaving of breath to puff around him, misting glasses, yet he felt warm.

Again he counted back, trying to wake up, a dream just a dream. He counted bones, breaths, cracks in the sidewalk...nothing helped. He peered at his watch, time passed normally. 3:05am.

Was it a dream, or did he sleep walk? Yet no one answered his yells or woke up when he knocked on their doors. No one answered his calls. No one lived or responded. Had he fallen through the cracks of the world? What did he last remember? The box.

The box was open. But he left it shut and locked.

Another light flickered, brightening then dying to a quick fade as night pushed in. He turned and ran again for the last light, no others left. It marked a sign for the Charleston Tunnels. Running to the side of the road, Zack grabbed up a stone, scratching at pavement, yet finding a mark already there. How many times had he been driven here? How many times did he freak out?

"So you want to talk. Ok...ok... You got this Zack. Who are you, what do you want?" His phone tumbled from his pocket to hand, flicked on and recording. He pressed the stone to the pavement, scribbling a quick circle with symbols of his own make, things that mattered to him. "Are you stuck here? Do need a voice?"

Letters appeared on the phone, messages. Taking up the device, he read and turned to face the tunnels. "Fuck me... Not a dream. So, you need some help. I'll do what I can." Stepping past the edge of light into the dark, Zack Bagans endured another Ghost Adventure.