Content Warning
Grief, Rage, Murder, Brutal Violence
I will not bow
I will not break
This time I'm wide awake
I'll sleep when I'm dead
Awake until the end
They tell me that I'm in over my head
I'd rather go insane
Than let it go to waste
Addicted to the rush inside my brain
–Autumn Kings, “Sleep When I’m Dead”
The city was a blur to Simon’s senses. A stoplight here, the flashing of headlights there. Signs, lit up for the night, flickered by too fast to read. Past the movie theater, where they pump the popcorn exhaust into the parking lot to entice customers to the concessions counter. Past the mouth watering smells of restaurants packed with people and straining to keep up with incoming orders. He drove past cops on patrol, past lines of late night traffic second shifters going home, and past all the districts of the city. He paid no mind to any of it, his fists gripped around the handlebars and his thoughts racing ahead to the mansion just outside the city. His destination. The old man’s place.
The city fell behind him and he moved into the immediate countryside just outside city limits. Close enough to the city to keep in touch with its pulse but far enough out to never be bothered by neighbors or curious onlookers. Witnesses, really. Simon could smell the blood on his hands and it made him want to scream. He slammed his palm against the bike’s yoke in frustration. It was supposed to work, he thought. Goddammit, it was supposed to work.
Within moments, he was at the lane that led up to the mansion. He yanked sharply and sent the bike hurtling toward the security station, only just barely braking to a stop before smashing through the gate. The guard stepped out cautiously. “Oh, Master Sinclair. We were not expecting you tonight.”
Simon killed the bike and stepped off in response. The guard tensed, his hand hovering back toward his gun. Big mistake. With Simon’s senses and bloodlust on overload, this could have only ever been perceived as a threat. Simon lunged.
Simon plunged his fist through the guard’s sternum, crushing his heart instantly. He pushed the man aside, reached into the gatehouse, and pressed the button to open the wide, imposing iron gate. Climbing back aboard his motorcycle, he sped off toward the main house. He pulled the bike up out front, skidding slightly on the gravel, and killed the engine again. A servant opened the door in curiosity and stepped out.
She didn’t even get so much as a greeting out before Simon crushed her windpipe. As she crumpled, a footman rounded the door armed with an umbrella. He advanced with a lunge but Simon deftly reversed the umbrella’s point and slammed the footman’s head down onto it. Simon entered the mansion, leaving the screaming footman to deal with his ruptured eyeball by the door, and stood in the main foyer.
“Deacon!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Deacon! Show yourself, old man!” Two security thugs entered from the left wing doorway, guns trained on Simon. One of them got a shot off that winged the vampire in the left arm before he was upon them, ripping and tearing. He slammed one’s head into the doorframe, holding him by his lower jaw and tearing it open in the process. He kicked the other against the wall with a strong, straight legged side kick to give himself enough time to recover. The man bounced off the opposite doorframe, dropping his weapon, and turned to take a swing at Simon. The vampire ducked under the heavy blow and darted upward, clamping his own jaw around the man’s jugular before tearing it out with one swift motion.
“Deacon!”
The bodies had scarcely hit the floor before he was bounding up the central stairs. As he passed, three more surprised servants took a plunge over the railing of the second floor and into the foyer, their bodies making sickening thuds and cutting off their short screams. He made his way to the main study, stalking by doors with cowering humans behind them. He could smell their fear. Any other time, it might have enticed him. Now, there was only a singular murder on his mind, despite the half dozen he had just left in his wake.
He kicked open the door to the study and found the butler, Balmsley, standing there with the landline base in one hand and receiver in the other. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” he said into the receiver before holding it at arm’s length toward Simon. “Master Beaumont is not at home, Master Sinclair. He does, however, wish to speak with you.” The butler seemed unbothered and totally in control of the situation.
Simon snatched the phone away with one hand and held it up to his ear, suddenly breathing and breathing hard. He felt almost startled by his own body’s response but then he remembered her lying there on the carpet. The rage reinserted itself and the breathing stopped again. “Simon, my dear boy,” the voice on the other end said smoothly, “did you forget that tonight is Elysium? We’re all having a splendid time here at the club. I believe you and your girlfriend were invited to attend, is that not so? Have I made an…error?”
“Deacon, you son of a bitch–”
“Language.”
“I’m not your son, you sick fuck. You just killed the only thing in the world that mattered to me. I’m coming for you. Do you hear me? I’m coming for your blood, you bastard.”
Deacon Beaumont drew in a long sigh. “My boy, better than you have tried. But let’s suppose you succeed. What do you expect to accomplish here, in our most sacred of spaces? You kill me anywhere, they’ll come for you. You kill me here? They’ll make you pay for a thousand years before they erase you. The girl was a distraction, Simon. Now you can focus.”
Simon clenched and unclenched his teeth for several seconds. “Deacon. I’ve never been more focused.” And with that, he hung up. The butler imperiously held out his hand to retrieve the phone. Simon looked him over.
“Fuck you, Balmsley,” he said and proceeded to beat the butler to death with the ringer.
The city fell behind him and he moved into the immediate countryside just outside city limits. Close enough to the city to keep in touch with its pulse but far enough out to never be bothered by neighbors or curious onlookers. Witnesses, really. Simon could smell the blood on his hands and it made him want to scream. He slammed his palm against the bike’s yoke in frustration. It was supposed to work, he thought. Goddammit, it was supposed to work.
Within moments, he was at the lane that led up to the mansion. He yanked sharply and sent the bike hurtling toward the security station, only just barely braking to a stop before smashing through the gate. The guard stepped out cautiously. “Oh, Master Sinclair. We were not expecting you tonight.”
Simon killed the bike and stepped off in response. The guard tensed, his hand hovering back toward his gun. Big mistake. With Simon’s senses and bloodlust on overload, this could have only ever been perceived as a threat. Simon lunged.
Where'd you learn to fight?
I’m going to use my once per session ability to generate an Insight here. The question will be “where did you learn to fight?” And the answer will be that I “grew up in the underworld.” So our man Simon here was part of some underworld family where he learned the skills he needed to survive. Tells us who he was running errands for. Seems to me that Simon Sinclair has always had a violent streak and that this was nurtured in his childhood by disreputable people. This casts him in more of a Transporter light, but I’m okay with that. This all gives him the Skill: Hand to Hand Combat.
Simon attacks with 2 AD (+1 for the Skill) versus 1 CD for the guard. Guard has 2 Blood. 2 and 6 vs 4, 2 damage, Guard is down.
Simon plunged his fist through the guard’s sternum, crushing his heart instantly. He pushed the man aside, reached into the gatehouse, and pressed the button to open the wide, imposing iron gate. Climbing back aboard his motorcycle, he sped off toward the main house. He pulled the bike up out front, skidding slightly on the gravel, and killed the engine again. A servant opened the door in curiosity and stepped out.
The Bloodbath
Let’s dispense with individual rolls for this bloodbath. One roll for the lot of them. Same as the guard, no worry about Blood HP. 1 and 2 vs 2. Hm, bad. I’ll spend a blood to bump that 2 to a 3 and succeed here, but at a cost. Simon is down to 7 Blood.
She didn’t even get so much as a greeting out before Simon crushed her windpipe. As she crumpled, a footman rounded the door armed with an umbrella. He advanced with a lunge but Simon deftly reversed the umbrella’s point and slammed the footman’s head down onto it. Simon entered the mansion, leaving the screaming footman to deal with his ruptured eyeball by the door, and stood in the main foyer.
“Deacon!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Deacon! Show yourself, old man!” Two security thugs entered from the left wing doorway, guns trained on Simon. One of them got a shot off that winged the vampire in the left arm before he was upon them, ripping and tearing. He slammed one’s head into the doorframe, holding him by his lower jaw and tearing it open in the process. He kicked the other against the wall with a strong, straight legged side kick to give himself enough time to recover. The man bounced off the opposite doorframe, dropping his weapon, and turned to take a swing at Simon. The vampire ducked under the heavy blow and darted upward, clamping his own jaw around the man’s jugular before tearing it out with one swift motion.
“Deacon!”
The bodies had scarcely hit the floor before he was bounding up the central stairs. As he passed, three more surprised servants took a plunge over the railing of the second floor and into the foyer, their bodies making sickening thuds and cutting off their short screams. He made his way to the main study, stalking by doors with cowering humans behind them. He could smell their fear. Any other time, it might have enticed him. Now, there was only a singular murder on his mind, despite the half dozen he had just left in his wake.
He kicked open the door to the study and found the butler, Balmsley, standing there with the landline base in one hand and receiver in the other. “Yes, sir. Of course, sir,” he said into the receiver before holding it at arm’s length toward Simon. “Master Beaumont is not at home, Master Sinclair. He does, however, wish to speak with you.” The butler seemed unbothered and totally in control of the situation.
Simon snatched the phone away with one hand and held it up to his ear, suddenly breathing and breathing hard. He felt almost startled by his own body’s response but then he remembered her lying there on the carpet. The rage reinserted itself and the breathing stopped again. “Simon, my dear boy,” the voice on the other end said smoothly, “did you forget that tonight is Elysium? We’re all having a splendid time here at the club. I believe you and your girlfriend were invited to attend, is that not so? Have I made an…error?”
“Deacon, you son of a bitch–”
“Language.”
“I’m not your son, you sick fuck. You just killed the only thing in the world that mattered to me. I’m coming for you. Do you hear me? I’m coming for your blood, you bastard.”
Deacon Beaumont drew in a long sigh. “My boy, better than you have tried. But let’s suppose you succeed. What do you expect to accomplish here, in our most sacred of spaces? You kill me anywhere, they’ll come for you. You kill me here? They’ll make you pay for a thousand years before they erase you. The girl was a distraction, Simon. Now you can focus.”
Simon clenched and unclenched his teeth for several seconds. “Deacon. I’ve never been more focused.” And with that, he hung up. The butler imperiously held out his hand to retrieve the phone. Simon looked him over.
“Fuck you, Balmsley,” he said and proceeded to beat the butler to death with the ringer.
Feeding Time
I’ll feed on Balmsley before he dies. D6 blood gives me…5 blood back, so back up to 10.
The Blues Club was next. Simon knew he wasn’t going to survive the night.
Next: Session 3
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