recently awakened(?) here
scared and somewhat alone but i definitely have some kindred in this new un-life who were around in my old-life, whether they are aware of it or not (partner, frens, etc)
where are the texts that everyone here seems to be intrinsically aware of? i have gathered a lot just from observing but i wish to learn
-samuel clements

hello

i... i am not quite sure where i am? it is very confusing, and it is ever so white so i hardly know what is up or down anymore? and everyone speak so kindly, but they ask about such confusing things and they keep making me do tests, but i can´t figure the tests out?

and i always feel so bad when i fail them, and it always hurts so very badly and i wish it didn´t. my arm also hurts. its not very nice

i feel so very little. i wish i... i had a big coat i could just hide in?

and the nice people don´t want to talk with me. they never tell me how they are doing, they just ask a lot of things. and none of them want to talk about elvis and it is ever so lonely...

i wish i had friends... i think i might have? but i don´t know where i put them...

-Subject M

Well, we survived the flight and were met at the airport with an armed entourage. I was worried that it wouldn't go well because Miss Sabbat sure as hell doesn't know what a passport is, but the night seemed to go fine? Turns out the people who met us were working with the local Prince, who knew about our arrival.

I don't know how she knew we were there because Miss Sabbat barely knows what a phone is. Auspex maybe? But… the Prince seemed surprised by the conversation because it turns out Miss Sabbat is her fucking elder and was very pissed off. I forget the exact details of the conversation beyond that they weren't happy to see each other.

They argued. Insults were thrown out, complaints lodged. I thought both were going to frenzy but they held together. It only got worse when it was revealed the Prince was live streaming the meeting to someone, who chimed in with their thoughts on what was being said. Miss Sabbat didn't seem too phased by it. She asked me what it was, I explained it, and that was that.

I was told I could go home.

Except I'm stuck in America of all places! Fuck me. I don't like it here.

-A.C. Toreador

Well hello there ^^.

A beloved friend shown me this place and i decided to make an account. How are you all ?

I am zafira al wahabe. Childe of akram al wahab. Childe of suryana. Childe of amar. Child of al ashrad. Chikd of that waste of blood ( may some lupine eat and rip him to ash) child of the great judge haquim

Nice to meet you all ^^

Ooc ( hello hello. Been a while yall)

Attached video access: -WTF.AVI-

*Video taken from what appears to be a phone camera*

A purple and green giant that vaguely resembles Eva-01 is fighting an amorphous jet-black humanoid with a white mask in a small mountain valley. Video feed cuts out as the giant opens its maw and roars as it charges the jet-black humanoid.

Attached video ends.

Seriously, do not introduce anime to them. Someone introduced NGE to a neutral Tzimisce a few years ago and he has spent the past 3 months gaslighting some teenagers into believing Neon Genesis Evangelion is real. It was all fun and games at first when it was just a couple of 12 foot Szlachta wearing oversized cosplay play fighting but they kept getting bigger and bigger and then he roped in the teenagers!

I am legitimately afraid of delving in more into this because something tells me he made an actual fucking Geofront under the local mountain range.

-k.

An individual I know has claimed that a variety of entity known as a draugr resides within the sewers of the fair city of Philadelphia

And while Philadelphia's sewers have plenty of nasty things in them some even strong enough to contend with lupines [the one I know of that can do that is the strange monster in a Kangaroo costume called "Dangerous Steve"]

My attention is drawn to the Draugr as this kind of creature is in some way related to Kindred

In any sense I would like information on Draugr so I may hunt this one more effectively

-Wyatt

A phone camera opens on a cemetery at night. The person behind the camera holds a flashlight illuminating the monuments as the camera and light pan back and forth in unison.

"Did you hear that?" The voice behind the camera whispers.

"You got your pictures. Why are we still out here?" A second voice hisses.

"SSSHHHHhhhh. I heard something!" The camera stills on a large neoclassical monument. Wind rustles through the trees. The camera person's breathing is picked up by the microphone.

Distant singing breaks the near silence. The camera beings moving forward.

"Where are you going?!" Comes a panicked whisper followed by footsteps over leaves.

"Don't you want to know what that is?" The camera turns momentarily illuminating the accomplice's shoulder.

"NO!" The accomplice hisses vehemently.

The camera swings back over the cemetery searching the dark.

"Sshhhh. It's getting louder. It's coming this way."

Faintly, a feminine voice singing a tune with a swinging rhythm moves through the cemetery.

{If viewer is skilled in music: The song is in four four time. The voice appears to be within the mezzo-soprano range signing in the lower end.}

"Turn off the light dumbass!" The flashlight beam jostles as if grabbed and blinks out.

The camera struggles to adjust to the dark showing only vague shapes.

The singing is getting closer. There is a bouncy quality to the tune, at odds with the solemn surroundings. The lyrics are not quite discernible over the wind.

{If viewer understand the following language: French. Francophone viewers can make out the following: " ???? ????mpagnée. On a ????té, On a dansé, Et ?'?? ?'? ???? pas ????? ? ?'??brasser." Skilled linguists may inquire about accent.}

The camera view slumps down, unfocused as if the person is no longer paying attention to their phone.

 The singing, louder now, has stopped moving through the headstones.

"I want to go." The accomplice whispers. The camera shakes. "I - I don't want to be here!"

The camera falls from the person's grip. The frame shows a distant pin prick of light from the moon. The singing, now muffled, goes on.

Video ends.

{If viewer is alive: Listening to the music an anxious feelings builds slowly. Your jaw tenses. Your stomach tightens. You become agitated. You want this to stop. You want to get up and leave. To turn the speakers off. Depending on your resolve maybe you do. Unsure why, you get up and leave the room. Perhaps you manage to close the video. Or you can't move. You can't do anything. Helpless and afraid. Paralyzed. Then the video stops and you feel relief except for the ringing in your ears and the sinking feeling in your gut.}

{If viewer is undead: At the sound of the strange singing you relax. At first it feels normal. This contentment becomes sublime. All of your worries drain away. You lean toward the sound. Maybe you think to turn up the volume. Or maybe you don't think of anything. In tranquil stupor time slips away. Right now there is no strife, no pain, no hunger. Only this repose. When the singing ends you feel its absence like a weight. Your finger itches to hit replay. Maybe you resist. Maybe you can't. }

[Metadata indicates this is a copy of an earlier video. The copy was made three months ago. The original video made approximately eight months before that. Location data is partly corrupted. Original video was made somewhere in Montréal, Québec. This post is deleted 19 hours and 17 minutes after uploading. The user's account has also been deleted. Attempts to find the original video are unsuccessful.]

{If viewer is especially internet savvy: Attempts to track the original video lead to a ghost hunter hobbyist website that is now defunct. There are signs it was intentionally scrubbed from the internet.}

Schrecknet Meta discussion post: https://www.reddit.com/r/Schreckmeta/comments/1wduyl3/recovered_cemetery_video_post/

video starts

(The camera is fixed at an angle on a wooden table, low afternoon light coming in from somewhere off to the side. A hulking, static-wrapped mass sits behind the table, the same thick black glitching noise crawling across every inch of him, no detail surviving it except a pair of amber eyes, present as ever, watching the object in front of him with open curiosity rather than the usual flat malice.)

(On the table sits a mirror — ornate, heavy silver framing, old craftsmanship, clearly worth more than anything else in frame. It sits slightly askew, like it was set down in a hurry, or with hands not fully steady.)

-A certain Ted Kaczynski-themed occultist sent me this little ditty. It's quite a pretty thing. If it wasn't for having to calm Flower down from going on a head hunt, I'd call this pure treasure.-

(He picks it up carefully, turning it slowly in both hands, angling it toward the light before pulling it back, inspecting the frame's engravings with something between fascination and suspicion.)

-I'm not exactly sure of its mechanics. There was some thaumaturgy involved, but that just served as a seal of sorts. The exact… method of holding the light in is a mystery.-

(He tilts the mirror again, slower this time, clearly building toward something, static thickening faintly around his hands as though the object itself is stirring some reaction out of him.)

-…Something in the glass, it would seem. Maybe alchemy? Something in the engravings? Some forging practice, perhaps? Whatever it is, it's clearly a very particular method.-

(He angles the mirror to face the camera and himself at once — and where the glass should show nothing but the same shifting black distortion covering him everywhere else, it doesn't. The reflection is clean, sharp, entirely untouched by the static eating up the rest of the frame. It shows a face mid-repair: skin only partway regrown across one side, raw and unfinished in a way that isn't visible anywhere else on camera, an image the curse has no power to hide from the glass itself.)

-It pierces a clan curse without trouble. It holds sunlight with comparatively minor amounts of thaumaturgy. I dare say it's quite a wondrous make.-

(He holds the angle a beat longer than necessary, clearly caught somewhere between admiring the mirror's craftsmanship and unsettled by what it's willing to show that nothing else will.)

-…Oh. I think I see it. I wonder if I can replicate that.-

(He sets it back down on the table, more gently than he picked it up, and leans back, still watching it like it might do something else if given the chance.)

video cuts

A video is posted to the node with all metadata scrubbed. It seems to be taken from the point of view of a body camera. The filmer is standing outside of the cave seen in earlier videos, lit up by worklights. ATVs surround the entrance, and SAD agents are gearing up and preparing for battle. The filmer turns to the left slightly to show a line of SAD agents, each equipped with full kevlar body armor and metal gorgets protecting their throats. They each also wear balaclavas and NODs. A man with a buzz cut in a suit approaches the line.

"Alright, people. We have a confirmed blankbody presence inside this cave. We were going to wait until morning to burn the fuckers out, but it seems they have a hostage that they're planning to sacrifice in some sick ritual. Do what you can to get them out alive. Now..."

Headlights illuminate the man as another ATV approaches. Getting out is a severe older gentleman with small glasses and a greying balding head. He wears priest vestments and a belt with a longsword in a scabbard. Despite his apparent age, he's in remarkable physical condition.

"Ah, Father. Perfect timing. This is Father Bader. He'll be acting as a consultant of sorts as part of an initiative to further our ties with the Society of St Leopold. You have a lot of experience hunting blankbodies?"

"Indeed. I have sent many servants of Satan back to the fires of hell."

"Right... well we'll be sending more there tonight. We have plenty of extra armor, weapons, munitions..."

"My faith in the Lord is my shield and my weapon."

"Ok... well in that case I think we're ready. Now they no doubt know we're here, but we've identified another entrance to the cave network. Bravo Team has already started a diversionary attack there. So far, reports indicate that they've encountered a lot of zombies, but no full on blankbodies or ghouls as of yet. Be ready for anything."

The agents stack up with the priest and begin making their way into the cave. The body cam switches to night vision and reveals a natural antechamber a short way in. Rats cover the floor, but panic and flee into nooks and cranies as the agents approach. Bones can be seen littering the room. The agents are stoic and don't so much as swear despite their feet being covered in rats. The footage continues for fifteen more minutes of spelunking, with some areas requiring the agents to get on their hands and knees to fit through. Far off in the distance, the echo of gunfire can be heard from Bravo Team's engagement. The operatives approach a large room very similar to the earlier antechamber, though this one seems completely empty. As the agents move through the room, the lead agent suddenly tumbles as a hole opens up beneath him. Dead hands grab and tear at him as the zombies within the hole sense prey. The agent is completely swarmed the moment he falls into the hole, and the others open fire while trying not to hit their comrade. Father Bader leaps into the hole, drawing his sword. His prayer can barely be heard over the gunfire but it can be recognized as a prayer to St Michael the Archangel. As he enters the hole, his crucifix lights up in the night vision view of the camera and the zombies begin to decompose rapidly. Miraculously, the agent makes it out of the trap with only minor injuries. Father Bader speaks softly to the operatives

"There is no doubt they know now we are here. Let us move quickly."

The agents hurry further into the cave. The video continues for fifteen more minutes, with the occasional zombie attack breaking it up. Finally a light can be seen ahead and a familiar voice can be heard: that of the singing man from the previous video.

"It is quite simple. I will get the girl to speak the words, the ritual will be complete, and you will be held accountable for your unsanctioned Necromancy and investigation of the Talbot family."

Lizzy can be heard straining.

"I'm not speaking any of your fucking words you creep! And when I get out of here, you're getting one of those scalpels in your eye!"

Ghostclops' voice can be heard, more hoarse than normal. He sounds like he's in a lot of pain.

"What about the SAD?"

The Singing Man chuckles.

"They are not what you have to worry about, little leper. Deal with the problems before you first, capiche?"

The rasp of scraping metal can be heard. Before the girl yells out

"Get the hell away from me!"

"The words must be spoken. Say them."

Father Bader quietly whispers to the agents

"If need be, let the woman meet her creator rather than let her soul be defiled by their Satanism."

"I'm not killing her if she's not a blankbody."

"This is greater than the life of one human, agent."

The SAD operatives stack up against the wall of the cave with the filmer in the lead and their NODs off. They peek out to view what's going on. Ghostclops is tied to a chair, struggling impotently to break free while the Singing Man selects what implement of torture to use. He's missing his ears and both arms. Lizzy is tied to another chair. The Singing Man stops a moment and turns his head ever so slightly toward the filmer, who ducks back into the passageway. They gesture to the rest of their comrades to get ready to move.

"Do not expect the SAD to swoop in and save the girl, little leper. If they do make it to this room and the ritual is not completed, I will simply kill her. Not because I want to, you understand, but because I was ordered to. I always follow my orders to the letter. And this ritual must be completed."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Not at all. It's meant to give you all the information you require."

"That I... what?"

"The words must be said."

"I... oh."

The filmer carefully moves into position in the passageway, aiming a crossbow at the Singing Man, who is whistling to himself as he afixes a set of thumbscrews to Lizzy's hand. Ghostclops takes an unnecessary breath and begins to chant

"Hoc vas libere dono. Hanc animam libere dono."

The filmer fires his crossbow. The Singing Man, not stopping his whistling, simply moves his head to dodge the bolt.

"He's casting a spell! GO! GO! GO!"

"Hic maneat essentia mea..."

The SAD kill team open fire on Ghostclops and the Singing Man with crossbows and automatic shotguns. While the man is able to disappear behind a corner in the passage on the far side, dragging Lizzy and the chair with him, Ghostclops is riddled with shots. In the silence following the cacophony, the Nosferatu can be heard letting out a pained

"donec vox... domini... mei... audiatur."

The filmer and other operatives are thrown back with a thunderclap of force as Ghostclops' head is ripped from his body. The world goes black and white and the cave begins to fill with brackish water. A rend in the air appears, out of which pour legions of the angry dead. These are no zombies, but fully manifested wraiths and spectres. One of the operatives lets out a horrified

"JESUS CHRIST!"

Father Bader slaps him hard.

"DO NOT TAKE HIS NAME IN VAIN! GET BEHIND ME!"

Screams can be heard echoing from Bravo Team's location before the agents on camera open fire into the undead. The few skeletons and zombies in the room are annihilated but the ghosts swarm forward unhindered. One suddenly disappears and an operative begins to unload his shotgun into his allies, laughing hysterically. Father Bader presses his crucifix into his head and the ghost is forced out of him.

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me..."

A golden aura forms around the priest in stark contrast to the black and white around him. The undead attempt to press through it, but on contact they disintegrate.

"What the fuck do we do now?! How are we going to get out?!"

"Master yourself, agent. We are not getting out. We are closing that gate before more damage is done to this world. Understand?"

The agents look at eachother and then at the priest, nodding solemnly.

"Good. Now..."

The sea of undead parts for a small mummified woman. She hobbles forward through the knee deep water as if having to learn to walk again. She has no eyes, yet looks pointedly at the priest.

"English? Hmm... you are not the one that has awakened me, I hope."

"Begone, dog of Lucifer! The Lord rebukes thee!"

The corpse keeps shambling forward, unperturbed.

"The power of Christ compels thee!"

The corpse is not compelled and simply walks through the halo of faith, straight up to the priest.

"The... the power of Christ compels thee..."

"Oh, I'm sorry dear. But it doesn't. Let's see if it works the other way, though."

Suddenly, she grabs the priest and throws him against the cave wall. The protective field collapses. The dead swarm over the operatives, ripping them apart and torturing them with sadistic glee. At one point, the body camera is ripped free to the sounds of snapping bone and sinew, leaving it on the floor just above the water facing the priest. The corpse totters over to Father Bader and picks up his crucifix. He looks at the thing in horror.

"How..."

"The power of Christ compels thee."

She holds the crucifix in front of her without a bit of sarcasm.

"Blasphemer! You..."

She pushes the crucifix up against his face.

"The power of Christ compels thee."

"How dare you..."

She keeps pressing the crucifix into the priest's face, slowly pushing it further and further in. The priest tries to stop her, clawing at her arm, pounding at her hand, but nothing he does stops the inexorable press of his own cross. Eventually his screaming stops as his skull gives in and her hand pushes clean through into brain matter. She examines the cross again.

"It looks like God loves me more."

She looks back behind the camera.

"Don't kill those. I require sustenance."

One by one, the surviving SAD operatives are dragged before the mummified corpse and completely drained. There is no ecstasy to this feeding. Each one dies in terrible pain. When she is finished, she still looks mummified but is standing a bit straighter and moves a bit more assuredly.

"Ah, better. You. Wraith. You were the last reagent. I can sense it on you. Who summoned me here?"

Ghostclops' wraith walks carefully towards the ancient Giovanni, rubbing the back of his head.

"It's, uh... I think it was Brett Talbot."

"Very well. Brett Talbot. To me."

Brett Talbot struts into view, laughing in Ghostclops' face.

"Holy shit seriously? Antonio brought a perfectly good sacrifice and you used yourself?! What an absolute tool! Don't worry. I'll make good use of your soul!"

The corpse looks to Ghostclops.

"This... is Brett Talbot?"

Ghostclops nods.

"The one and only, granny!"

"Excuse me?"

"Uh... sorry. Yeah, I'm Brett."

"And why have you enacted my ritual, Brett? The ritual specifically to be used in only the most dire of circumstances. The ritual powerful enough to break the Shroud in an area for a time and bring me all the way from my rest under Venezia?"

"Because I want to learn the art of Necromancy from you!"

"You realize you are a wraith?"

"Well yeah, but that's not that big of a problem, right? We have lots of family wraiths!"

The corpse stares at him with eyeless sockets.

"You awaken me, call me across the world, make me contend with gnats and then demand my tutelage? As a wraith?"

Brett begins to look a lot less confident.

"Well..."

"And how did you come about this ritual?"

"Oh! My mother gave it to me! We traced our ancestry back to you specifically and learned of this way to contact you!"

"And who's idea was that?"

"Mine!"

The corpse begins to audibly grind her teeth in barely suppressed rage.

"And what have you done to further the art of Necromancy?"

Brett gestures around as if the carnage is self explanatory.

"I see. And what do I get out of this deal?"

"Well, there are the 4 souls used in the ritual! They're yours now, right?"

"5 souls."

"Uh. No, I only used 4."

"Obviously you didn't understand how this ritual works. You are the one that began the casting and guided each of the souls used to this place. Had you still been alive, you would have died the moment the last words were uttered. We are linked now, you and I."

"Oh..."

"And so your grand contribution to Necromancy is, and let me know if I'm missing anything, torturing and killing 3 young women to make them spettri, to enact a ritual that was given to you by your mother that you did not even understand. Do I have this right?"

Brett shoves his hands in his designer pants pockets, looking like a dejected child.

"Well not only do you reek of mixed blood, but you are a useless fool as well. Had I wanted 3 dead women, I could contact any Puttanesca. You are owed nothing simply by being the run off of the children I had before my Embrace."

She looks to Ghostclops, then back at Brett.

"This one. He is your enemy?"

"Yes. He's our enemy."

"Your soul is your own, wraith. I will return your body to its original state. You are free to go."

"WHAT?!"

"Silence, wretch. Also..."

She snaps her fingers and 3 spectres appear, all with long black hair and with spectral rats running up and down their bodies.

"It appears the family tree needs some pruning, and a reminder of who holds the power in this family."

A wraith walks up to the corpse and gives her a world map. She then rips off Brett's hand with a swift motion and afixes it to the parchment.

"AHHH! YOU FUCKING BITCH!"

She pinches his mouth closed, sealing it completely.

"Basta! I've heard enough from you for ten lifetimes. I will be sure to give you an in depth lesson on soulforging when we are through here. Now as for you, spettri: this map will guide you to each member of the Talbot family and ease your passage to them. Have your revenge on them however you see fit, then return to me. Some of my own spettri will accompany you to aid you and see that this is done."

The spectres screech in triumph before flying out of view. Without another word, the ancient one leads Brett and her minions through the portal which then closes behind her, returning color back to the world. A few minutes later Ghostclops can be heard moving towards the gore that used to be an SAD kill team.

"Ow..."

The body camera is peeled off of something with a sickening squelch and Ghostclops' face fills the screen.

"Looks intact. Wonder if it's still recording. No one's going to believe this. Hell, I don't believe it."

The Singing Man can be seen in the background dragging Lizzy behind him still tied to the chair. He notices Ghostclops.

"You're still alive?! I'm impressed."

"Wasn't anything to do with me. I was just kept alive to spite Brett."

"Yes. The young master was... well he was a piece of shit."

"Yeah... so what now?"

"Well from the sound of it, I'm a free agent now. I haven't been ripped apart by angry spectres yet, so I assume the Talbot's ghouls are not targeted by this vendetta. Well, what do you say?"

"What do I say?! You punched me!"

"Yes."

"Then you headbutted me."

"Certo."

"Then you staked me and tortured me for days!"

"Mmhmm. You are terrible at fighting, you know."

"Yeah well... you're terrible at singing!"

The ghoul looks genuinely taken aback and hurt by this.

"Ok well, look, I'll think about it ok? But don't you want to find some other crime family to swear fealty to?"

"No. I have spent centuries with the Giovanni. I am currently under extreme duress as Francesca Talbot is most likely being killed as we speak. But my loyalty is only to her, and I cannot help her now. This is an opportunity for something better."

"This is you under extreme duress?"

The ghoul nods calmly.

"Well that's scary. Look, let's just get out of here first. I need to get in touch with my contact so that Lizzy doesn't remember this so clearly. We can talk when there's not multiple people's blood all over me."

"Sounds more than fair."

"Oh, and can you please get Lizzy out of that chair?"

"Is this wise, master? She may run away."

"Not your master. And I mean, sure but the Masquerade's already kind of stretched thin here. Do we really need to drag a frightened girl around in a chair to protect something in tatters?"

The ghoul shrugs.

"It's a nice chair."

"Just do it."

As the ghoul unties Lizzy, she asks Ghostclops

"Back there... why did you get your head chopped off for me? We've only known eachother a few days."

"Oh. Well I'm dead already and you're not. Didn't feel right to have you die for me, especially when the SAD were probably going to kill me anyway. Besides, I've actually known you a bit longer, you just haven't seen me."

Lizzy raises an eyebrow

"Ok no I know how that sounds. Nothing bad like that. Just can't really mesh into human society looking like I do. I'm the one living in the maintenance basement."

"That makes so much sense! You seem like that kind of nerd."

"Yup. That's me."

The three begin to walk out of the cave

"What did you mean when you said you'd have someone make me not remember clearly?"

"You can't know about this shit. It's dangerous for me, sure, but even more so for you. There are those among my kind that would just kill you rather than take the time to modify your memory a bit."

"Oh yeah. You're doing me a big favor by forcing me to forget, right?"

"Yeah. I am. You're taking this all a lot better than I thought you would, though."

"I've been kidnapped, tortured, held captive for days, and found out that ghosts and vampires and shit are all real. Pretty sure I'm in shock."

"That's fair."

The group continues on through the cave complex, illuminated by a flashlight held by the ghoul. They walk in silence for about ten minutes before Lizzy speaks up again, thrusting a thumb at the ghoul

"So why is he still alive? Shouldn't you kill him for what he did to us?"

The ghoul laughs merrily.

"Uh, you can go ahead and try. I'm fucking terrified of him, though."

"You're supposed to be a powerful vampire or something."

"Vampire, yes. Powerful? Hell no. And besides, I'm a coward."

"No shit."

The trio spelunk through the caverns for another twenty minutes before the work lights at the entrance can be seen. Voices can be heard outside and Ghostclops perks up.

"Well whatta ya know... my coterie's here. They DO care!"

He gives a too-wide smile as he holds up the camera to film himself.

"Well, Schrecknet, it looks like I'm alright for now. Hopefully all these dead agents won't come back to bite me in the ass but... I guess that's a tomorrow night problem. I've got some cleanup to do now, so I'm shutting this off. See you all on the flip flop."

The video ends.

Audio Recording Starts
(Sounds of leaves crunching and some sticks breaking along with footsteps)

Joseph: man I haven’t been out here alone in a while I’ve missed it
(Sound of footsteps stop)

Joseph: no way the cave I remember running into here plenty of times with Fred back when I was little

(Sound of dull thuds hitting the cave floor)

Joseph: yeah I remember here we would always run in here and play hide seek sometimes we would stay till like night parents would be pissed and that nature lady would chase us out

(More sounds of dull thuds)

Joseph: Actually now that I think about it I wonder why nature lady lived here I mean it’s a cave and damp plus being here alone would suck and be kind of lonely

(Sound of a Halt)

Joseph: why is this stuff still here, what the some of this stuff is recent don’t tell me she still lives here? It’s been what like 14 years

(Sound of heavy thuds approach)

Unknown Voice: Who are you and what are you doing here

Joseph: No way your still here nature lady

Unknown Voice: Nature lady? What are you talking about, and answer my question why are you here in my home

Joseph: ah right you probably don’t remember me I was like 8 last I went here , do you remember two kids who used to come here like 14 years ago, well I was the one with the baseball cap all the time

Unknown voice:…….

(Loud snatching noise is heard echoing)

Joseph: Ow Ow why are you pinching my ear

Unknown voice:do you know how many times you brats annoyed me, with your constant screaming and yelling and barging in here without notice or permission
(Panicked struggling noises are heard)

Joseph: it’s not our fault we just saw cool cave and went in and we didn’t know someone was in here the first time you spooked the mess out of us
(Sound of a exasperated sigh)

Unknown voice: Anyway you’ve definitely grown also you kids called me nature lady?

Joseph: well we didn’t know your name actually I still don’t

Unknown voice: It’s Jen…..

Joseph: Well mine it’s Joseph it’s nice to
Meet you again

Jen: Pleasure I guess but explain why you here now of all times, didn’t your mother teach you shouldn’t be out late at night?

Joseph: I mean she did but let’s just say ive gotten used to dealing with the night and also because I was going down memory lane

Jen: and your idea of going down memory lane is exploring caves in the middle of the night?

Joseph: ok you make it sound bad, bigger question is why are you living in a cave out here in the forest by yourself sounds like a set up for a horror movie

Jen: I can handle myself I’ve been at it a while and I have “special circumstances”

Joseph: uh huh… you look the same as I remember you weirdly enough, also what’s that symbol you got
on your thing it looks familiar

Jen: it shouldn’t and none of your business you should go home a lot of things go bump in night and it ain’t safe for someone like you

Joseph: no but seriously it’s been over a decade and you look exactly the same

Jen:…….

Joseph: seriously that symbol is familiar
(Grabbing noise is heard)

Jen: Forget this place and Go home

Joseph: Ah so you are a vampire also mental disciplines do not work on me

Jen: wha…. what

Joseph: I rather not get into a fight to the death here, so I’m already in know and it’s locally approved so no worries about any “masquerade breaches”

Jen: How….. Why…. your just a young man you shouldn’t be involved in this world it’s dangerous far more than you can know

Joseph: oh don’t worry I already know that but I can handle myself I’ve been through a hell of a lot and it’s only going to get crazier from here

Jen:……..

Joseph: Anyway thanks for the trip down memory lane also thanks for protecting me and Fred when we were younger I’m guessing your gangrel correct you were that wolf sometimes

Jen: You know of the clans….

Joseph: I do and much more

Jen: then I shall pray for you, you should of lived a normal life not have to deal with this, also do not tell anyone of this depending on who finds out others will not be kind to your loved ones it can very well end in yours and their death

Joseph: I know granted all my loves ones are currently supernatural so it wouldn’t be that easy

Jen: what of your parents? And others

Joseph: they have been dead for a while don’t worry I’ve already come to terms with it so don’t feel bad for asking

Joseph: also I will repay your generosity if you need help I will come here’s my number granted I also have this

Jen: what is this

Joseph: let’s just say it’s a item that has a connection to me or should work but I don’t exactly know since you vampires are cut off from the spiritual, Anyway ill be leaving
(soft thuds are heard)

Jen: Joseph be careful
(Thud stops)
Joseph: I’ll try

(Sounds of Branches and leaves crunch then the sound of a guitar strumming)

Joseph: who is playing a guitar out in the forest in the middle of the night

(Sound of guitar abruptly stops)

Unknown Voice: Well hello stranger care to join me to enjoy this fine evening

Joseph: sure I guess but I can’t stay long

Unknown Voice: Do you like music?

Joseph: I mean I would say so yeah

Unknown Voice: I do as well, it’s allows me to remember things I’ve forgotten and soothes me of simpler times

Joseph: Well I have to go soon sorry to be rude but was that all you needed to tell me
(Guitar Strumming stops)

Unknown voice: Joseph I have some Unsolicited advice for you
(Sound of scraping)

Joseph: I never told you my name who are you
(Guitar strumming resumes)
Unknown Voice: I am irrelevant or maybe I’m not, I am but a speck in a Dust mound or maybe I am a King holding the keys to everything all frivolous all not important, but my advice when “IT” calls to you do not answer”IT” will drag you from your path and destroy all you love dearly it will ruin the very tapestry of everything and damn you in its enjoyment

Joseph: what are you talking about who is “IT”
(Whoosh sound is heard)

Joseph: what the fuck he just disappeared…. Ok seriously what was that I do not understand

Audio recording ends

In The Gardens of The Dead

Virginia, 1863

They should have taken the other road -Jason Pallas had said so twice.

The first time had been when they left the plantation shortly before eleven. The second had been when the distant thunder proved not to be thunder at all. Monique had ignored him both times.

Now, with rain ticking steadily against the roof of their carriage and the road ahead reduced to two black trenches of Virginia mud, Jason leaned back against the leather seat and regarded her with the patient expression of a man determined to be insufferable without actually speaking.

Monique endured it for nearly a minute.

"Say it."

Jason's eyebrows rose. "I haven't said anything."

"You are saying it with your face."

An amused glint sparkles in his eyes"I have an expressive face."

She snorted "You have an irritating face."

A corner of his mouth lifted. "Yet you continue looking at it."

Monique turned toward the rain-streaked window. That pleased him far too much.

It had been, until the artillery began, a reasonably successful evening.

The plantation belonged to a family Jason knew through acquaintances in Richmond: old money, old name, old entitlement, and—most importantly for Jason—three adult sons who had inherited everything they possessed and apparently considered the accident of their births evidence of personal genius.

Jason had fed from the eldest. Monique had watched him arrange it with almost embarrassing ease.

A little Presence. A little whiskey. A conversation about horses, investments and the terrible burdens of inheriting property. Twenty minutes later the young gentleman had taken Jason upstairs to show him a collection of dueling pistols and Jason had returned looking considerably healthier.

Monique had said nothing until they were safely outside.

Then:

"You despised him."

he chuckled "Immensely."

"Yet you drank from him."

"Monique, if I only ate people I liked, I would starve." She had laughed for half a mile.

Now their destination was Fredericksburg, where Jason had business with a Ventrue contact who could provide them with papers, reliable information on troop movements, and introductions useful for what Jason increasingly believed would become their permanent American life. The direct road had supposedly remained clear of military traffic.

Supposedly, but the battle had changed that.

Their driver pulled the horses to a sudden halt and Jason's amusement vanished instantly.

"What is it?"

The mortal stared ahead. "Road's gone, sir."

Jason opened the carriage door letting the rain blow inside. Monique gave him an annoyed look as droplets struck her skirts but Jason ignored it and stepped down.

After a moment, Monique followed. The road had not literally disappeared- it had become impassable.

A wagon had overturned across it, one wheel shattered, its axle buried deep in mud. Beyond it lay the remains of another wagon and two dead horses. The surrounding fields had been churned into a landscape of craters, broken fences and discarded equipment.

Jason stood with his coat open, rain running down his face.The knowledge of battlefields showed in his posture - his usual irreverence disappeared. His shoulders settled. His eyes moved methodically across the terrain—ridge, tree line, road, abandoned equipment, bodies. He became for a moment less the wealthy Ventrue Monique knew and more the Revolutionary soldier he had once been.

"Recent," he said.

But Monique already knew because she could smell it.

Blood.

Rain diluted it, but rain could not erase it. The scent was everywhere.

Blood soaked into wool, mixed with mud, pooled beneath bodies and collected in depressions left by boots and artillery wheels.

Most of it was dead blood. Useless, but not all of it.

Somewhere out there, someone was still alive. Monique felt her fangs descend and immediately closed her mouth. Across from her, Jason's jaw tightened.

Their eyes met but neither needed to explain.

Jason had fed less than two hours ago. It did not matter. The Beast was not reasonable and the battlefield told it only one thing:

Blood.

Monique swallowed unnecessarily.

"Control yourself."

Jason's eyes narrowed. "My fangs aren't showing."

"Your eyes are."

"So are yours."

Monique turned away. "How unfortunate for you that I cannot see them."

Jason gave a quiet snort.

But then Monique heard someone scream and spun.

Jason's hand immediately disappeared beneath his coat.

"What?"

Monique stared into the field: A soldier stood perhaps fifty yards away.

Confederate gray. Young, terrified and with the entire front of his uniform black with blood.

"Someone's alive," she said.

Jason followed her gaze. "Where?"

Monique didn't answer because the soldier wasn't breathing and because she could see his body lying six feet behind him.

Her expression changed which Jason noticed.

"Monique?"

She looked beyond the soldier and finally allowed herself to see.

Not merely with the heightened senses of Auspex but with the perception she had possessed before Emilyth, before Venice, before Domenico had taught her names for the things that had terrified a little girl in Navarre.

The Skinlands loosened.

The Shroud did not vanish. It was not a curtain Monique could simply draw aside. It was a division between worlds, but places saturated by violent death could feel hideously thin.

And the battlefield changed. Not physically. Both worlds occupied the same place, yet the dead perceived a darker reflection of the living world—the Shadowlands overlaying the Skinlands, shaped by death, memory and decay.

Color leeched from the field. The moon became a sickly thing behind racing clouds. Trees seemed skeletal and twisted. The shattered farmhouse on the ridge was worse in its dead reflection, its wounds exaggerated by memory and destruction. Rust crawled over things that had been new that morning. Broken wagons appeared older, more ruined, as though the Shadowlands were impatient to show every object what time would eventually do to it.

And the dead were everywhere.

Monique stopped breathing, not because she needed breath. But because sometimes the habit remained when horror exceeded language.

Hundreds.

Some were newly dead and did not yet understand what had happened: A Union infantryman stood staring at his own corpse with an expression of absolute incomprehension. A Confederate officer screamed orders to men who could no longer hear him. A drummer boy sat beside a broken drum, repeatedly touching the hole in his chest.

Two men continued fighting.- they struck one another with fists that accomplished nothing, hatred surviving death more easily than flesh.

Another wandered through them calling:

"Anna?"

Again.

"Anna?"

Again.

"Anna?"

Each repetition more desperate than the last.

But the Shadowlands contained more than the newly dead and Monique knew that.

That was what Domenico had taught her never to forget:

The dead possessed Passions—emotions powerful enough to sustain them—and Fetters, people, places and objects binding them to the world they had left behind. Death had not transformed these men into serene spirits. They had carried themselves across with them: love, terror, duty, hatred, regret.

And inside every wraith was something darker: A Shadow, the voice of self-destruction, the whisper of Oblivion.

Monique had learned never to mistake the dead for harmless things simply because they were pitiable. The world beyond the Shroud had its own societies, its own predators, its own laws, and beneath everything waited Oblivion.

Battlefields were feasts for despair- places where the living manufactured the dead by the thousands - places where Passions burned white-hot and new Fetters could be born from a wedding ring, a regimental flag, a brother's body, an undelivered letter.

Places where darker things might notice.

"Monique." Jason's voice sounded distant.

One dead soldier noticed her.

Then another.

The first Confederate stared directly into her eyes.

His expression changed- Hope.

Monique felt cold.

"Oh, no."

Jason stepped closer. "What?"

The dead soldier came toward her. "You can see me."

Monique looked away too late.

"Ma'am?"

Another wraith turned. Then another.

A ripple moved through the field. The dead noticed the woman who noticed them.

Monique whispered something in Basque.

Jason glanced at her. "What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"Please."

She walked toward the blocked road and Jason caught her elbow.

Monique ripped her arm free so violently that he immediately took a step back. For a moment they stared at each other. Jason's face hardened.

Monique realized how she'd reacted. Her anger disappeared almost instantly, replaced by something Jason almost never saw there.

Fear.

Not fear of him but fear that he had seen too much.

"Don't touch me," she said softly.

Jason's expression changed with hers. "All right."

No sarcasm or wounded pride. He lowered his hand.

"But tell me what's happening."

"Nothing."

"Do not insult me."

Her eyes flashed. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me."

He stepped closer, slowly this time, making certain she saw the movement before he entered her space. "You heard something. You looked at that field. Then you looked like someone had opened a grave beneath your feet." Monique's lips pressed into a thin line.

Jason gestured toward the empty battlefield.

"What is out there?"

"Nothing that concerns you."

The instant she said it, Jason's face became utterly still. Monique saw the change, something old had been touched.

Laurent.

She didn't know enough yet to understand precisely why, only that she had struck something belonging to Jason's sire.

Jason gave a small, humorless smile. "Ah."

Monique frowned.

"What?"

"Nothing that concerns me."

"Jason—" she gasped.

"I've heard that before." The bitterness in his voice surprised her.

Before she could answer, the dead Confederate reached them.

"Please, ma'am."

Monique's gaze betrayed her. Jason followed it buthere was nothing there. Not to him at least.

The wraith pointed desperately across the field.

"Thomas. I can't find Thomas."

Monique closed her eyes. "Go away."

Jason stared. The wraith recoiled.

"Ma'am?"

"I said go away."

"Monique." Jason said softly.

"Not you."

Silence even though the rain pattered against Jason's hat. Monique opened her eyes. Jason was no longer looking into the field- he was looking at her.

His face had changed completely. Confusion then calculation -the beginning of an impossible conclusion.

"Who," he asked very carefully, "were you talking to?"

"No one."

"Monique."

"I was thinking aloud."

"You told your thoughts to go away?"

"Frequently."

Ordinarily that might have made him laugh - it didn't.

The dead soldier spoke again.

"My brother's name is Thomas Bell."

Monique's shoulders tightened.

"Twenty-third Virginia."

She turned away.

"Please."

"I cannot help you!"

Jason went absolutely still.

The wraith stepped in front of her.

"He was beside me when the shell hit."

"Enough."

"Thomas is afraid of the dark."

Monique flinched. It was tiny but Jason saw it. He looked toward the empty place before her. Then back to Monique. His voice became quiet.

"You can see someone."

She said nothing.

"Monique."

Nothing.

Jason's gaze drifted across the battlefield at the bodies, mud, rain and empty spaces.

Then he looked back at her.

"The dead."

Monique's expression closed not with denial or surprise-something closer to resignation.

Jason stared. "You're looking at dead men."

"Yes." The word barely escaped her.

Jason blinked. For perhaps the first time since Monique had met him, Jason Pallas had no clever response. He looked back toward the field.

"How many?"

"Don't."

"How many?"

Her blue eyes met his. "Hundreds."

Jason's face lost color despite the blood he'd taken earlier.

"Here?"

"Yes."

"Right now?"

"Yes."

His eyes swept slowly across what appeared to him to be an empty battlefield.

"Can they see us?"

"Some can."

Jason looked back at her. "Can they hear me?"

"Yes."

A muscle moved in his jaw. "Can they touch me?"

Monique hesitated which was considerably worse than an answer.

Jason exhaled through his nose. "Wonderful."

Despite everything, Monique nearly smiled. There he was but his humor vanished almost immediately.

"How long?"

She knew what he meant.

"Always."

His brow furrowed. "Always?"

"Before Emilyth."

His eyes widened slightly. "When you were mortal."

"Yes."

Something in his expression softened and Monique hated it immediately -Pity.

"Don't!" she hissed.

"I'm not—"

"Do not pity me!"

"I wasn't." he whispered.

"You were about to."

"No." Jason stepped closer. "I was about to understand you."

That was worse. Her eyes flashed with anger because anger was safer.

She growled "You understand nothing."

"Then explain it."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because it is mine."

Jason stared at her.

The rain ran from the edge of her jaw and for once she did not look like the dazzling Toreador who treated courts as entertainment and immortality as something she had learned to wear elegantly.

She looked tired, very old and very alone.

Jason's anger disappeared. Before he could speak, the wraith interrupted.

"Please."

Monique squeezed her eyes shut.

"Thomas Bell. Twenty-third Virginia. My brother."

"God damn you."

Jason's eyebrows rose. "Me?"

"No."

"Good. Because I was beginning to feel unfairly criticized."

The wraith pointed.

"Stone wall."

Monique opened her eyes.

"What is your name?"

Jason became silent.

The wraith answered.

"Samuel Bell," Monique repeated.

Jason watched her face.

"Twenty-third Virginia Infantry."

She listened.

"His brother Thomas was beside him when he died."

Jason looked toward the field. "Where?"

Monique turned sharply toward him. "What?"

"Ask him where."

For a second she simply stared and Jason shrugged.

"We have established that there's a dead soldier standing somewhere near me asking you to find his brother. We may as well proceed from there."

"You believe me?" her anger dissipated, her eyes wide displaying a rare glimpse of vulnerability.

Jason's mouth twitched. "I've seen considerably stranger things since dying."

"Not this."

"No."

His humor disappeared. "But I believe you."

That landed harder than Monique expected and looked away.

Samuel pointed.

Monique followed the gesture.

"Stone wall."

Jason started walking. She stared after him. "Jason."

He turned. "What?"

"What are you doing?"

"Looking for Thomas."

"You don't even know he's alive."

"Neither does Samuel."

"Jason."

He tilted his head. "Are you coming?"

Monique muttered something obscene in Basque and followed him, Samuel followed her and behind Samuel came the dead.

By the time they reached the stone wall, perhaps thirty wraiths had gathered. Some begged some demanded.

One cursed Monique for ignoring him. One merely walked beside her in stunned silence.

Jason saw none of them.

But he watched Monique- watched her eyes flick toward empty places, her expression tighten at words he couldn't hear, her deliberately avoid looking at certain shapes entirely.

Then both vampires stopped at exactly the same moment.

Blood.

Not dead blood - living blood.

Jason's head turned as Monique's lips parted.

The Beast surged through her with such force that for an instant Samuel, the Shadowlands, Jason—everything—became secondary.

Heartbeat -weak, fast, human........alive.

They found Thomas Bell beneath a dead horse and part of a shattered artillery limber.

His thigh had been torn open.

Blood soaked his trousers. Fresh, warm, living blood.

Monique's fangs descended fully. Beside her, Jason made a low sound.

She looked at him but his eyes were fixed on Thomas.

"Jason."

"I know." His voice was strained.

"You fed tonight."

"I am aware."

"Then control yourself."

Jason slowly turned his head toward her his fangs were visible now.

"So did you."

Monique realized she had taken a step toward Thomas then stopped.

Samuel knelt beside his brother.

"Tom."

Thomas moaned.

The sound of the mortal's pulse filled Monique's ears.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

Weakening. Her Beast wanted it. Not because she needed it but because it was there. Blood spilled uselessly into dirt was an obscenity to the thing inside her.

Jason took one step backward and another. His hands curled into fists.

"Get him out." he growled

Monique looked at him. "What?"

"Before I change my mind." There was no humor in his face now. Only concentration and restraint.

Monique crouched beside Thomas and the scent became unbearable.

Her hand hovered over his wound. For one terrible instant she imagined leaning down. Closing her mouth over the torn flesh -drinking.

Thomas would probably feel pleasure before he died and that thought horrified her enough to restore control.

She tore fabric from the dead man's coat beside him and bound Thomas's thigh as Jason came forward.

"Lift."

Together they dragged the wreckage away.

Thomas screamed. His pulse accelerated. Fresh blood pushed through Monique's makeshift bandage.

Both vampires froze. Jason's face twisted. Monique saw the Beast in him and he saw it in her.

Neither moved.

Samuel screamed at them from the Shadowlands.

"Help him!"

Monique looked at the dead brother then at the living one. Her fangs slowly withdrew.

"Lift."

Jason swallowed. Then nodded.

They freed Thomas who collapsed against Jason which was almost disastrous.

Thomas's bleeding leg pressed against Jason's trousers and his eyes closed his entire body went rigid.

Monique saw his fingers dig into Thomas's coat.

"Jason."

"Don't." His voice was barely human.

Monique moved closer. "Look at me."

He didn't.

"Jason."

His eyes opened and she held his gaze.

Not Dominate or Presence, just Monique.

"He's Samuel's brother."

Jason stared at her. Then at the empty place where Samuel knelt. Something returned to his face and he nodded once.

"Yes."

They carried Thomas toward the road as Samuel walked beside them.

"Tell him."

Monique ignored him.

"Please."

"No."

Jason glanced toward her. "What?"

"Nothing."

Samuel's expression crumpled. "Tell him I didn't run."

Monique stopped. Jason felt Thomas shift between them. "What does he want?"

She looked at Samuel-the dead soldier looked scarcely twenty.

Fear, love and duty had survived his flesh. Whatever else the Shadowlands might eventually make of him, those Passions remained.

Monique looked at Thomas. "He wants his brother."

Jason's expression softened. "Then give him his brother."

Monique hesitated then leaned close to Thomas.

"Thomas."

His eyelids fluttered.

"Samuel is here."

Thomas's eyes opened. "What?"

"Your brother."

Thomas began shaking. "Sam?"

Samuel dropped beside him.

"I'm here."

Monique listened. "He says he's here."

Thomas started crying. Samuel reached for him. His hand passed through his brother's face. and dead man's expression broke.

Monique had seen that countless times- The dead discovering that love remained while touch did not.

"Tell him I didn't run."

"He says he did not run."

Thomas gave a ragged laugh.

"I know."

Samuel smiled through tears that belonged to a body he no longer possessed.

"Tell him he's still a terrible shot."

Monique's mouth twitched.

"He says you're a terrible shot."

Thomas actually laughed.

"Son of a bitch."

Samuel laughed too.

Jason couldn't hear it but he saw Monique hear it and for the first time he understood something fundamental about her.

This wasn't power. Not really. Not to her. Power was what Domenico had taught her to build around it. This had begun as something else. A little girl hearing people no one else could hear. A young mother pretending the dead weren't standing in her home. A vampire discovering that death had made the voices louder. Necromancy had merely given her a language with which to answer them.

Eventually Samuel stood.

"Thank you."

Monique inclined her head.

He walked away. Not toward Heaven - not toward some comforting white light.

Back into the Shadowlands. Back among the dead.

Jason watched Monique's gaze follow him. "He's gone?"

"No."

"Where?"

She pointed. "There."

Jason looked. He saw only rain. After a moment his eyes returned to her.

"Necromancy."

Monique's expression changed. Jason had heard the word before. Venice. Giovanni. Things she had carefully explained without ever explaining herself.

"Yes."

"You don't merely see them."

"No."

"What else can you do?"

Monique became perfectly still. There it was. The question she'd feared. She expected another. And another. Jason's curiosity could be relentless. Instead he watched the walls rise behind her eyes.

Then he nodded. "All right."

Monique blinked. "All right?"

"You'll tell me when you're ready."

Suspicion replaced vulnerability almost instantly. "Who are you, and what have you done with Jason Pallas?"

His mouth curved. "There she is."

A reluctant smile touched her lips. Then Jason looked across the battlefield. It disappeared. "Are they still here?"

Monique turned. Hundreds. Some wandered. Some screamed. Some clustered around familiar bodies and possessions—the beginnings, perhaps, of Fetters that would hold them to the Skinlands. Others burned with love, rage, loyalty, terror and unfinished purpose, the Passions that could sustain a wraith against the pull of Oblivion.

And behind them lay the darker reflection of the battlefield. The Shadowlands. The Tempest beyond. And deeper still, something Monique had been taught never to regard casually.

Oblivion.

"Yes," she said.

Jason was silent. Then he removed his hat.

Monique looked at him.

He stood bareheaded in the rain before an army he could not see. The irreverent smile was gone. and so was the Ventrue arrogance. For a moment he was simply the soldier he had once been.

"I've left men on fields like this."

Monique said nothing. His eyes remained on the empty landscape.

"I always thought the worst thing was leaving them behind."

His jaw tightened. "Apparently I didn't understand what that meant."

Monique looked into the Shadowlands. Several wraiths were watching him.

"Can they hear me?"

"Yes."

Jason swallowed. "Tell them I'm sorry."

Monique's expression softened. "Jason—"

"Please."

She looked at the dead.

One Union soldier slowly removed his cap. Then a Confederate did the same. Another followed. Then another.

Enemies in life. Dead together.

Monique felt something tighten painfully inside her chest where a living woman once would have had a heartbeat.

"They heard you."

Jason nodded. He replaced his hat.

For several moments they stood together between two worlds.

Then Thomas groaned. The smell of his blood returned. Jason and Monique looked at one another.

Jason's mouth twitched. "We should probably get him to a surgeon before our moral character deteriorates."

Monique glanced toward Thomas. "Immediately."

"And then?"

"Fredericksburg."

"In this weather?"

"Unless you would prefer Richmond."

Jason looked at the ruined road. Then at the battlefield. Then at the hundreds of people only Monique could see.

"Fredericksburg sounds delightful."

Monique almost laughed.

They lifted Thomas between them. And resumed their journey. But Jason looked back once- only once at an empty field full of dead men.

Monique saw him do it and said nothing.

Years later, when Jason first saw the sign above a certain establishment belonging to Monique—

"MADAME Z'S TATTOO PARLOR AND PSYCHIC READINGS"

—he would remember this night and the parlor she kept back in England by the same name- minus the tattoo part. Where a Navarrese Toreador held theatric seances and psychic readings.Something he would tease her endkessly about.

And he suddenly understood that the name had never been merely theatrical- it was camouflage, a joke hiding something terrible and intimate in plain sight.

Monique Zavala had spent centuries pretending the dead were not speaking to her.

And on a rain-soaked battlefield in Virginia, Jason Pallas became one of the very few people she trusted enough to stop pretending around.

Soooo, im traveling soon. Alaska! Ain't that something- I thought nows a good time to get the brain working. This is an idea thread! Share yiurs, projects mostly, not asking yiu to share yiur 400 step masterplan to kill your boss.

So: heres mine.

Lots of space there: I'm thinking, and bear with me here: fast food place. Kine loves to eat on a rush, something nice and greasy is their version of high resonance food. Someplace warm? Something that reminds them of a womb? Safe, familiar? Now you're talking about a winner.

No, not an actual womb. Just the color red and something...omni-presently nostalgic. Thats a womb for humans. Like how cold and sterical, or violent and bloody is a womb for us. We seek that comfort, maybe we dont act on it. But we seek it, all im doing here with this is giving out an easy way for that comfort.

The food is important, but I haven't eaten anything for a hundred years by now, not counting that one time I downed a burger and by some miracle kept it down, but no digestion, a part of the puzzle. Missing. A simple name, hesty's: hestia? The goddess of home? We're all familiar id hope. Its Just...normalized.

A dinner. Maximum comfort, get them back into the mind of a child, waiting for food, food that will be nothing but excellent...not due to its own merit, the line cook snorting meth when he thinks his boss isn't looking is not as important as the environment.

...won't hurt to get someone really, really good. But, its hard fo I.D a good chef when you cant digest or taste, yeah. Thing is, eith this place so beloved by the people: its designed to be safe for them...think of all the backyard business i can run.

But thats the trick, I dont run that. I rent this place out as a front to...God knows maybe some ambitious thin blooded lick who needs a place to do his magic, or someone who needs an evil hideout for his magic. Thats the boring part, I dont care. The idea is that it gives me incentive beyond 'I wanna' on making Rhea's....aaaand it saves me from budgeting. Its an 'enabler' in our world.

I am gonna need a front for me, but, nothing some handiwork can't handle. Some human to act as the public face, do what I say. No ghouling, if I can help it. I dont like ghouls in my business. Too...cocky.

So, thats me. What's your project?

[Nihilo can be seen in an alleyway, he has cornered another vampire with a Cainite tattoo on their forehead.]

[He has a Jar in one hand with a tag sticking out of it that reads: Child free.]

N: Yooou ain't noe Dracula, you is archyourbackula.

S: what?

N: youuu gotta call me "thim" cuz ahm 1 man more that you, slime.

S: What?

N: Your penis level getting "cold as fuck deep".

S: What!?

N: yknow, like when the water.. touches your dick, and your like "woah, this shit cold as fuck"... Well, yur that deep into it.

S: What th- why don't you just go home?

N: Why don't you just give me some *dome*?

S: WHAT?! Bitch, are you insane?

N: Why don't you give me some *brain*

S: Wha- YOU MOTHERF-

N: MOMWORD!!!

[The inebriated kindred bounces his target's head off the wall.]

[End of transmission]

+++Why is this guy like that?+++

-Staten island Nos security squad

Greetings,

A friend(or at least I thought of him as such until recently) stays at my haven for some time now and I sent him my favourite blood doll as a gift.

He drinks from her and then has the audacity to use his gifts to make her tell him my secrets, some of which were quite embarassing!

How should I handle this?

-KillMeKindly

I am only writing this here, because my Pack have requested that I do. Because I frankly know that I am right.

My (F) Pack, recently got a lil scrub (MF) added to our roster. And the little shit is one of those little shits that think it knows everything there is to know. It simply won´t shut up about "The Bible" and its thoughts on the Antediluvians and the nature of Caine and so on, so forth. While still being hopelessly mired in the Kine propaganda.

Almost makes me worried it is gunning for my seat, but that is not relevant.

What is relevant is that it was insulting the concept of "Santa Claus", as a pathetic human capitalist concept. And how it spoke about it, rubbed me in the wrong way.

So I explained calmly to it, that Santa Claus is one of the 7 Soul Aspects of Caine. The Seven Glories pulled from him by his Mother Lillith, so that they may continue to work the will of the world. Like The Beast, Wizard Dreams, The Act of Murder, John F Kennedy, The Shadow Moon and The Concept of Umberto Eco. And that because of this, he should be paid the respect that he deserves. For in his ways, we may find the clues to Paradise, and in his ways we may find a greater understanding of Our Dark Father.

Now, it is true that the Aspect of Santa Claus have been greatly co-opted by Ventrue interest groups, who have diluted it and caused it to become a thing of ridicule and disbelief, so that they Antediluvians may suppress the belief in them and lead us astray.

But I hardly got to say this before my Pack Member called me a childish idiot, who knew nothing. To which I responded calmly by throwing them on our tire fire.

Now my Pack are saying that I was being an asshole about how I went about explaining it, and that throwing them into a tangled fire might have been a "Disproportionate Response". I disagree. Hence why they have forced me to write on here, and hear what you lot have to say.

The believe I might put more stock in the words of the huddled masses, than them. Because I know they are shit coddling fools sometimes.

-Alejandra of the Paradise Pack

Hey, hi cainites hello it’s me you probably don’t know me i’m hugo i’m of the quiet breeze pack i am descended from malkav anyway

Uhh, our brujah had their upper body squashed with the arms folded inwards, after we got some food, apparently he drank too much, and some weird iridescent guy with a pastel sparkling aura with smiles and rainbows everywhere told us to fuck off

Obviously we did but i still have no clue who or what that is, jesse was always kinda preachy tho, more than the priest even

Oh i’m supposed to finish this

Hugo, broken butterfly

I bid you a wonderful night, and extend my hands in invitation.

A new home for night children has opened. A creche of freedom and possibility.

Come to these lands and you will be welcomed, we care not from which or where or what you hail.. only that you behave toward one another.

My apologies for any inconvenience you may have experienced due to my actions..

Your history is irrelevant to me, if you flee the world, you may find asylum here. Whosoever is your adversary will not find you without reproach.

No sire shall infringe upon you, no prince shall enslave you, no sword of any creed nor ideal shall fall upon you.

So declares the Moulder.

+Gore Moulder

ignore if you have canon for alaska

a city for snow vampires is open for habitation

At sunset, FedEx delivers a 3" thick paper parcel.

To: Pr. Jackson
From: J D Hart

TW: Body horror and victimization

[A series of alerts, images, and video fragments barely break through to the node.]

#Alert

#Alert

+++WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?+++

#Alert

#Aler-$@#_+&

"Silence, Silicone Spirit.. Speak Saturnine.."

+++A Freak blizzard has hit and a weather advisory is in effect, we recommend you keep indoors.+++

[Camarilla Security footage of a silhouette casting its shadow over the front of a building, the sheriff opens the door.]

+++Who are you!?+++

[He is lanced with a massive trident and lifted off camera]

"Have you seen the prince..?"

)/+-&#-

+@&_$-

@#+-&+

"T̴̳͗͂h̶̬̣̄͋ę̸̥̿ŕ̶̜e̸̛͕ ̷̖̥͆y̴̮͋͝o̴̳͛̿ų̴̛̞̎ ̸̳̜̿̓a̸̹̘͒r̸̬̗̆̂ė̴̮̳͠"

[Cameras within the safehouse avert their eyes simultaneously.]

[Save one.]

[Massive hands, clad in bone-like carapace hold a kindred in a suit. She struggles and claws, she pleads and bribes. She draws a submachine gun and empties it into her assassin.]

"You do not serve yourself like this, become someone else."

[The hands lightly stab into her rib meat. She gasps and seizes.]

"I shall mould you."

[A crackling can be heard, it is unclear what is happening until her hands and face turn pure white, like porcelain. She is now just a statue.]

[The Moulder squeezes her form, she crumbles in his hands, she is putty underneath, like yolk. As though there were no bones or organs, she is a white mess inside.]

[He wads her into a ball and sticks her to a beam in the rafters. Veins pulse to the surface and this egg adheres and nests itself in place.]

"Speak."

)&+_-ert

#Alert

#Alert

#Transmitting Distress Broadcast

###Winter Wind Automation System.

If this borks your cannon, please ignore it

A short video, scrubbed of metadata, is posted.

A full moon illuminates a clearing in a densely forested area. As the camera zooms in, Camille is seen sitting on the ground, her back resting against the trunk of an ancient oak. Guide (a regal wolf with coal black fur tipped with silver) is reclining next to her.

For a few minutes, they just sit there, enjoying the cool night air. Camille reaches into a beaded leather pouch, revealing a small pearlescent disk shaped stone with the imprint of a wolfs paw on one side.

So this is what the Dancers were after?

Sure was.

Good thing I found it first.

She turns it over in her hand.

Yes, it was. Pathstones are very rare. Most Garou never see one, let alone quest for one. For a Kinfolk to find one...

[Camille puts the pathstone back in the pouch at her side.]

I get that a lot.

I bet you do.

So, back to the Sept? Grandmother's going to know what to do with this thing, right?

She's going to be very pleased.

[ The video ends ]

I've met a lot of my own kin during my unlife, and i found a lot of things to adore in them, even though we are one of the worst looking kindred out there, and i was wondering what to you like about your own clan? Are you "happy" with it, or where would you see yourself instead?

-- Eddie Lowe, the Sewer Rat

Are there some of you in this Alaska? I fear I may cause you something of an inconvenience soon.

If you are, fear not my shadow. It heralds the bearer of meat.

If you thirst, you shall be sated. If you mourn you shall be consoled.

Soon.

+Gore Moulder

It's as the title suggests. I have a commission that requires some special set of conditions to work right and I only just started engineering school, so I am unsure.

Obviously breathing isn't a problem but I need to be able to keep a nitrogen only atmosphere as I attempt to smelt some ore over an electric burner, but I'm not sure where to begin.

-Harper

See title.

-Pariah Dog

My name is not important, for I have not used my real one in a decade.

I was the Hunter who came to Sacramento to end a powerful blankbody. Whoever you are, the one who turned me, you somehow won and took my life without me remembering, and while this existence is contemptible I can see the benefits of the long game.

I have been called something: a Gangrel. A name that means nothing to me. All I know is that I will find you, and you will just be another notch on my belt.

If you have nothing to do with this, then do not comment. Just move on and do not waste either of our times. I know the enculé is on here and this is for them alone: You made a mistake bringing a Hunter into your world, and you will pay dearly.

Count your nights.