Content Warning
Grief, Rage, Despair, Murder (Premeditated and Mass), Brutal Violence, Toxic Masculinity, Incel Shit, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide, Allusions to Abuse, Destruction by Fire
I feel a silence underneath
In these valleys of blood
In these rivers of rust
Shoulder all the blame again
Mirror locked until the end
It was violent and rough
I was never enough
Gearing Up
Not to steamroll the mechanics for narrative, but I think our answer to his last insight question gives us a lot of permission here. That is to say, he was in the criminal underworld as a courier. Probably also a couple of other things too. Session 1 brings arsonist to mind. So I don't think we need to roll anything or generate any new Insights for him to obtain illegal gear like this. I think, under normal circumstances, stealing these supplies would have considerable consequences for him but, well, he'll have to survive this for that to follow.
Forty-five minutes later, Simon pulled into the parking lot of Blue Skies. Elysium. On a normal night, filled to the brim with mortals and only a handful of vampiric predators watching them from the shadowed corner booths. Tonight, however, there would be no kine outside of those destined to serve as the party's punchbowl. Only kindred. Every single one of them, everything this city has to offer. Or rather, everything this city truly suffers from. The gravel crunched under his boot heel as he dismounted the bike and adjusted his leather jacket. He reminded himself again how, just like him, they were nothing more than parasites. He reminded himself that they were already dead. That they didn't deserve the life they literally stole from others. That done, he felt ready.
He approached the front door of the somewhat upscale building. It was all steel and glass, sharp angled and modern design. Two stories with an interior and exterior balcony. He knew from previous visits that the second floor overlooked the first, a medium sized dance floor centered there. He opened the pristine glass door and stepped inside, feeling the sudden temperature change. The front of the building held the security station, coat check, and front office. Security immediately took notice and approached. Simon tensed, prepared to fight his way through if he had to. He could rely on his Vampiric Speed if need be but he had another trick in mind to try first. "Get your boss," he said to the ghoul approaching him.
Intimidate the Ghoul Guard and a Third Insight
I think I have some things swinging in my favor here. For one, I think this Ghoul knows who I am. I mean, he undoubtedly knows who everyone here is but I have a certain pedigree, I imagine, through Deacon.
I don't know if I specified it or not but I've been imagining Deacon as an important elder in all this. I'd normally ask an Oracle just how important he is but I think I can just go ahead and decide that he's Primogen. We can learn Clans later. I think Deacon is a manipulator and a secret-keeper. A blackmailer, for sure. I think that's fair, based on the way the last session presented him. I feel like that calls for an Insight, though. So let's set that up first. The question will be, "What did you inherit from your Sire?" And, for sure, it's tempting to take a Blood Spell based on that (expanding the Disciplines, you know) but I think the character of Deacon is more important in this situation. So, having spent a good deal of time as his mentee, I've learned a great deal about being a blackmailer and I've learned a lot of secrets about the vampires in this city. So we'll call the answer, and the name of the Skill, "Beaumont Pedigree."
I think the pedigree, the difference in power (especially with Simon being an obviously physical powerhouse), and the unhinged look in his eyes is probably enough for the Ghoul to comply relatively easily. So we'll set the task as Regular. I get +1 AD for the Pedigree. I roll 3 and 5 vs 2. Success.
The Ghoul backed off warily and passed through the wooden door that led to the office, leaving Simon with his nervous looking partner. Whoever was manning the coat check was absent, probably waiting on security to clear him. The other security guard nervously stared at Simon and Simon glared steadfastly at the broad wooden double doored entry ahead. The entryway was all sumptuous carpets and rich woods, a cozier, if stark contrast to the outside of the building. But it was spartan and devoid of any real character. That was reserved for the inside of the club itself, a mixture of both elements, modern and traditional. Like an ancient pub that had survived into the modern nights. For all Simon knew, that's exactly what it was. Like hallowed ground for immortals.
The side door opened again and out stepped Vivian Leblanc. She was dressed immaculately in an elegant, square neck, satin formal dress that stopped just above her knees and sported a cutout over her sternum that went a long way toward shaping the dress. But Simon saw how, regardless of the stunning figure she cut, the dress was functional. He'd met Vivian in passing only a couple of times before and her seeming wildness always caught him by surprise. She was tall and imposing, muscular with an almost frenetic energy and an intense gaze with a wild mane of hyper curly bright blonde hair.
Any other time, the sight of her might have intimidated him in turn. He might have lost his nerve, turned tail and fled the place. It wasn't just her presence, either. She was the Keeper of Elysium and this was her domain. She rarely left the place. So this was home turf advantage for her. Opposing her was foolish on its own. Let alone the Sheriff, who was sure to be inside somewhere.
Vivian looked him over seriously and he could tell she immediately caught on that something was going very wrong here. She gestured dismissively to the ghouls and they took up positions on the other side of the entry by the entrance double doors. She stalked quietly over to Simon, taking his measure. There was no way she missed the bulkiness of his jacket. Still quiet, she loomed over him and said at a barely restrained whisper, "You dare? I don't know what the hell you're thinking of but I won't have you so much as disrupting this gathering. You will leave. Now. And you will return tomorrow night with an explanation and one hell of an apology or I swear to god I will extract a blood price from you so great, you--"
"Rebecca Sauvageon," he cut her off, his own voice a barely perceptible whisper. It was a calculated risk. He didn't know who Rebecca was or who she was to Vivian. But he had read the name in one of the old man's diaries. Deacon normally kept those under lock and key but had left this one out on his desk a few months ago. Simon had taken pictures and studied the information as best he could. Next to Vivian's name in the diary were only the words, "Mention Rebecca Sauvageon." Now he considered it, Simon realized that diary may have been left for him to discover. It wasn't something he would have considered before tonight. Even knowing who Deacon was, what he did, and how he operated. But he didn't know the extent until...
As his thoughts turned to the beautiful redhead whose body he had consigned to flame only a few hours ago, the hate stirred in his breast again. Vivian immediately stopped talking, her face full of shock. He locked eyes with her. In another time, without that name hanging quietly in the air between them, he might have lost this contest of will. But he saw hers crumble before his very eyes. She didn't even ask how he knew that name. She said nothing at all, though he could see the frustrated rage rising in her, like calling to like. She merely stepped aside and allowed him passage into the bar.
Rebecca is the Key and Dice vs Permission
Another narrative permission, just to move things along. I could roll for it but that introduces odds that this person is possibly not enough of a weak point for Vivian and I think it's straight up more interesting if she is. I don't know if or when I can revisit this information but it's interesting enough on its own for now. This is one of those solo situations where I'm just deciding on a narrative the way I might respond if I were GMing for someone else. It's an odd balance. Too many oracle rolls and the like and you get bogged down in minutae and it becomes very easy to develop myopia but too few and it starts to fall away from feeling like a game and starts feeling more like a campfire story. Doubly so if you're recording or journaling the game like this. In most of my other solo games, I lean toward the Oracles. In this one, I've relied a lot on justification from narrative circumstances. Both are fine, I think, but as with most of these sorts of things in ttrpg land, I find myself adopting a moderation approach. I think it's most fun to use both in relative balance.
As the doors closed and he stood there surveying the room, he could just barely hear her on the other side of them slaughtering the two ghouls who stood guard. Witnesses, he supposed and guessed that she couldn't risk them having overheard the name. He moved to one side, positioning himself behind a pillar at the edge of the dance floor, stage side. A group of vampires were gathered there to watch the live performance. Standing tables were scattered among them, notably absent the usual beer bottles and other alcoholic offerings. In their place, tall crystal glasses filled to various levels with fresh, crimson blood.
The club was full to bursting, the city boasting a large vampire population. So every seat was taken, including the shadowy corner booths. He did not see Deacon's face among them. Which meant he was in one of the private back rooms. Simon felt relieved. That made all this easier, in a way, despite his reminder to himself that these people were all evil leeches. To one side, he spotted Maurizio Lazzari, the Sheriff, glance down at his phone and begin making his way toward the front of the building. He was a combination of opposites. His suit was exquisite, an eight button, double breasted, navy blue suit with the bottom button unbuttoned. He wore a sturdy looking apple watch on his right wrist, which tracked, but he also wore an unkempt five o'clock shadow over his too-thin features and a messy mop of shoulder length, raven black hair to top it all off. He looked taller than he was, lean and hungry, and reminded Simon of a bird of prey.
So. Full access, but with a time limit. Vivian had been willing to throw everything away for that name but it appeared she was still going to try to spin it if she could. Smart. After all, when Simon was done here, who would be left to question? Simon moved quickly. Vampiric powers weren't allowed in Elysium. But that only mattered to those who feared punishment. For the first time in his life, Simon felt free. It was a heady experience that almost gave him pause. In the end, his purpose won out and he moved without hesitation.
Vampiric Speed
I'd say using Speed is a Regular task but I'll bump it up to Moderate because I have to outpace Maurizio once he discovers the breach. And on the flipside, I only have 1 AD because I don't have any special gear and I'm not doing any rituals. I roll a 1 vs 5 and 5. Oof, harsh. I'll spend 5 Blood (lucky I topped up) to beat the 5 CD. Drops me to 5 Blood, half.
Time seemed to slow down for Simon as he activated his Speed. He needed to move faster than he had ever moved before. Faster even than attentive vampire eyes could track. He bolted like lightning around the outer edge of the room, so as to have fewer people to avoid, and arrived at the backrooms just as the Sheriff reached the front double doors. Simon quickly opened the door and stepped inside. What he saw inside surprised him, though it shouldn't have.
Deacon sat opposite the door at a table filled with other primogen. Only three, but still. Much of the city's power rested in this room. Deacon looked up and smiled broadly. "Simon, my boy, I'm so glad you could join us. Did you give any thought to what we talked about earlier? He didn't look like he belonged here. He looked old, as if he had been embraced in his 70s. He wore a simple sweater with little patches on the elbows, a well ironed pair of khakis, and sensible if expensive leather shoes. His silver hair was full and swept back in a simple style and he wore an overlarge pair of square rimmed, plastic glasses for effect. One of the others, dressed far more impressively than the old man, glanced up and smirked at Deacon's little jab. For all his simple appearance, looking for all the world like some bored professor due his retirement soon, he still commanded respect in this room.
"I did," Simon said evenly, rudely ignoring the other primogen. Every face in the room turned sour. Simon felt his newfound freedom take wing and soar. His rage, so tightly focused now and seconds from fruition, enveloped his sense of freedom and set it on fire. It was like his spirit had transformed into a phoenix. He suddenly and fiercely grinned. And still, none of the arrogant assemblage made a single move. See, this was the problem with tyrants like Deacon. Every single one of his fucking sycophants, even the ones ostensibly his peers, was going to suffer Final Death because they waited one second too long looking to their leader for direction.
And then, in a moment like Revelation, the Prince of the City entered the room through a side door. He was regal and fine featured. Tall and muscular, he looked like an ancient king. His golden hair shone even in the low light of the room and his cheekbones rode so high on his face as to appear to lift him above the petty concerns of any peasant who might approach him. Prince Ambrose was a cutthroat ruler but everyone knew he relied too heavily on his council. His subjects thought him weak and easily manipulated and he never seemed overly interested in anything that didn't cement his position and privilege. So, of course, Deacon was his closest advisor and friend. Ambrose was laughing and distracted by something happening in the room he was leaving. Simon unzipped his jacket, revealing the rows on rows of shaped charges strapped to his torso.
Deacon Beaumont removed his fake glasses, uncrossed his legs, and sat up straighter. He glanced over at Ambrose as he entered, then returned his stare back to Simon. "Ah," he said dryly, "It appears I have made a grave miscalculation."
"You're damn right, you son of a bitch. This is for Anya." One or two of the primogens had caught on. One leaped for him and the other leaped for the door.
Fast as Fuck
Vampiric Speed to get to the button press. Let's call this Formidable, hardest task. I just get the 1 AD. I roll a 5 vs 3, 3, and 5. I spend 1 Blood, bringing me down to 4, to beat that 5 and succeed.
I don't think we need to roll damage for a chestful of claymores or whatever. We'll say he has enough high explosive on him to incinerate the room and part of the bar beyond it. Everyone in here, Simon included, is Final Death d-e-d dead. To say nothing of the Rotschreck that so many vampires face this night.
They weren't fast enough. All the power in the world, concentrated in the room where it happens, and somehow a single, lowly neonate takes it all away. The explosion balloons outward, incinerating everything in its path. As his flesh is flensed from his bones, he grins maniacally and laughs. He is, finally, powerf--
Next: Session 4
Comments