The death of Van Der Bilt seemed to strengthen Abercorn’s resolve.

The second of Akeley’s Field’s two patriarchs simply refused death. Not that the condition was entirely absent. But he held onto existence with a horrid tenacity that made all but his most devout devotees, feel uneasy. He had intended to invite his great, great nephew, Silas to dine. But instead the townsfolk, had in their wisdom, sent Jan Visser’s daughter, Magda, to tend his numerous health problems. She was a petite creature, no more than five foot in height, with ringlets of golden hair and a beatific face that inspired carnal as well as paternal thoughts in the more elderly faction of the town’s men.

She made her way to Abercorn’s dilapidated home with apparently disquieting steps. Her pace marred by the eruption of roots along the thin, crushing alleys that served as street and by way for the town. The overhanging shop signs swinging in an almost intangible, breathy wind.

None of the townsfolk questioned just why Magda’s appearance was so, well foreign to the norm.

She lacked the hunching shoulders of the locals, her forehead didn’t jut unnaturally. And her mouth was a curving bow, not a haphazard slash across a sea scarred face.

Maybe that was why they sent her to the Old man. A desire to show off their most beautiful. A wish to display their prize.

However it was infinitely more likely, and impossibly more horrifying that they sent her because she didn’t fit in.

Abercorn squatted like a broken scarecrow.

His head, dry and wrinkled beyond recognition, hung on an all too old neck. His shoulders now too weak to support it for more than a few minutes. He stared at the floor of his chamber, thinking impenetrable thoughts.

The arrival of his dining guest, Magda, however brought some effort into his withered, nigh-rotten frame.

[i:e1223437fc]“Ah. My dear, Magda. It is good to see you little one. You’ve grown somewhat since you last bounced on my knee. Come. Come give an old man a kiss.”[/i:e1223437fc] He pursed his lips obscenely.

Magda, innocent, didn’t see the foulness of his action, only the trembling affection of an old man.

She kissed him on the cheek, her mind blind to the wax-like rubberiness of his skin.

He smiled with leathery lips, hiding the unnatural profusion of teeth still in his mouth and beckoned her to sit with him a moment.

[i:e1223437fc]“So, Magda? Are ye courting yet? Any of the boys take yer fancy?”[/i:e1223437fc] He asked out of feigned interest. His only interest being in whether or not she would be missed [b:e1223437fc]too[/b:e1223437fc] greatly.

She shook her head.

[i:e1223437fc]“No sir. Momma says there’ll be plenty of time fer that.”

“Yes. Yes of course. A dainty lass like yourself will be, one day, fighting the boys off. Your folks? They are well?”

“Well as can be expected sir. In light of the incident at the quarry ....”

“Excellent. Yes that was a most troublesome task....Now will you join me for dinner? It isn’t much, but you would make an old man feel young again.”[/i:e1223437fc]

Her nodding head was the lingering image in his mind as he burned the last of her golden ringlets on the fire. He dabbed his mouth with a napkin, grease coating the fabric as he finished his meal.

He tossed the offending napkin onto the fire, watching it spit and curl as it danced in the flames. Stretching his back, he felt full again. Refreshed.

Magda had proven to be quite the dinner guest. He felt invigorated. She had shown a remarkable survival instinct even when her blood had splashed onto the floor. Her eyes screaming for her throat as she watched the old monster carve a joint from her side. He had, he calculated, bought himself a few more weeks at least.

((well done Frank...well done indeed!! :)

((sweet post man!))

(( :shock: Sweeeet!? SWEET!?!?! (awesome writing!!! but ::gags::)

[i:3395a8681f]"But what about Elton?"[/i:3395a8681f] Abercorne croaked, his wretched wrinkled lips curling into a crooked sneer with little more than mention of that hated name. [i:3395a8681f]"What about him?"[/i:3395a8681f]

The broken figure sat in his antique brass wheelchair, a thick blanket covering the useless strings of flesh and bone that served as his legs so long ago. The 'feeding' had served it's purpose, and he had gleaned several weeks out of the girls life. He now sat gazing intently at his assistant, and third nephew, Horus.

[i:3395a8681f]"He's still unaccounted for Uncle Abercorne. But it's unlikely that he could cause any significant trouble. With their patriarch dead, the House of Vanderbilt is practically harmless."[/i:3395a8681f]

Horus was a brawny lad of twenty, the strongest of the bunch, and possessed a keen mind. He had served his uncle for nearly five years now, mostly helping in menial tasks. Now he was undertaking his most important responsibility to date.

[i:3395a8681f]"Practically is not enough Horus. I want them eliminated."[/i:3395a8681f]

++++++++++++


Nightfall found the two Kindred outside the Town Hall and Records Office. The square white building looked forgotten at the end of a practically deserted lane, great white flakes of paint missing from it's pock-marked exterior.

((it's not much, but it's a start Frank'n'Beans. lets get inside and find the foreman's addy

Greggs had intended to drive his buick to the excavation site, but no amount of gentle nor aggressive persuasion could get the infernal engine to start. He thought that was strange, until he realised that his cell phone, watch, and the GPS pocket-system all shared a similar disposition for uselessness. He dressed in warm but light hiking clothes, swinging a small ruck-sack over one shoulder he set off from the guest house, trudging along the mud-cobbled streets, before his progress became hampered by the muddy twisting trails the hikers used over the years.

He reached the excavation site around twelve noon, and taking a notepad from his trouser pocket along with a silver nibbed pen, he began exploring the seemingly abandoned area.

[i:a98e1575fa]The place is, it would appear deserted. No amount of calling or shouting has drawn any reply and noone has come from the sheds to meet me. I’m going to look in the offices...there might be something there that’ll explain things....

No. Nothing. Well, nothing straightforward. There are a few post-it notes scrapped around. Simple notes to various members of the excavation team....

Found something of interest.

Fragment of an old photograph. It’s brown from old age. But it’s still pretty clear. Looks like a family shoot....yes the Abercorns. Don’t recognise alot of these faces....died of old age I guess. One that looks like Old Abercorn himself....must be his father though, though the resemblance is striking....

Heard something.

Seemed to come from the sleeping dorm. Hard to describe it. Animal cry perhaps. Going to have a look-see.

Nothing.

But found something else....

Seems that whatever is disrupting my cell, and the car also hit the site. Found the Foreman’s journal. It’s a little random....disjointed even. Something had disturbed him I think.

Passages that speak of the dig going as planned, hollow found under the woods, basalt chamber filled with bones.

Animal, bird and some he didn’t recognise, or want to?

Things get a little more unclear, foggier near the last entry. Something about the “Watcher in the woods”. Few notes stapled on last entry....newspaper cut outs from turn of the century. Something about the woods around the town. Local folklore I think.

Still no sign of the workforce.

Sun is starting to set....thought about returning to the guest house. Think I’ll stay the night here though. Provisions still in reasonable condition. Office shed looks to be the best choice....

Sun has all but set. Cries are coming from the trees. Usual fauna. Nothing unnatural.

Heard a voice outside. It’s 2am. Glad I brought my .38 along. Voice is in fact two. Both male. Daren’t look outside. Something feels wrong.

Sun up.

Found two piles of ash-like powder outside the office door. Few scraps of clothing...wallets reasonably intact.

Spontaneous combustion? Can’t be sure. Looking around a bit more, before I head for home.

Found massive “paw” print in mud few yards from ashes.[/i:a98e1575fa]

Greggs woke the next morning looking somewhat shaken. The piles of strangely humanoid-laid ash didn’t help.

He flicked through the journal, pausing at a page of crude illustrations....[i:a98e1575fa]frequent mention of “Gilgamesh’s brother”.[/i:a98e1575fa]

The door was secured with a single padlock, aged and displaying no small amount of rust. Gabriel stepped forward from the shadows and gave the feeble metal lock a tug. It held firm in his grip. Astounded at it's resiliance, the Ventrue enabled his blood strength and strained against the lock. Yet the lock sat firm.

[i:d316d20f12]"Let me try."[/i:d316d20f12] came Poe's hushed voice from behind. Gabriel stepped back and absently watched Poe pick the lock, wondering at his own inability to wrench it free from it's resting spot. The young Ventrue's strength, legendary for a Kindred of his age, had never failed him since he had bloodbound himself to Sorenti ages ago. The potency of the Elder's blood had allowed the Ancillae to display feats of strength that would make their current situation seem laughable.

With a 'snick!' and a grin, Poe was creeping through the opened door into the darkened innards of the small building with Gabriel in tow. The pair crept silently along, trying to make their way amongst the unfamiliar building. A thin set of stairs led them into the basement and presumably main vault of town records. The two were faced with a daunting task. Row upon row of cataloged shelves held countless names, birth certificates, and random collection of information.

[i:d316d20f12]"His name is Villepsie. William Villepsie."[/i:d316d20f12] Gabriel whispered. The two went to work, sorting through the loosely arranged paperwork. Neither Kindred spoke, and as the dust of ancient deeds and contracts rose from their long-time homes and filled the cramped room, even the Kindred's breathing ceased.

[i:d316d20f12]"Gabriel...look at this."[/i:d316d20f12] Poe said at last, holding an ancient, yellow piece of parchment forth. The Ventrue took it and examined it carefully.

It was a birth certificate from nearly a century and a half prior, with the name "Archibald Vanderbilt" on top. Gabriel looked inquisitively up at Poe, who sat on his haunches.

[i:d316d20f12]"So?"[/i:d316d20f12] he asked at last. Poe held forth another document. This one had a small photograph paperclipped to it's corner. In the old photo, a proud young man stood peering several degrees away from the camera. It must've been over a century old. The medical record identified the young man as the same on the birth certificate.

[i:d316d20f12]"Do you recognize him? Didn't we just accidently attend his wake last night?"[/i:d316d20f12]

The figure [b:d316d20f12]did[/b:d316d20f12] bear a striking resemblance to that found in the painting upon the altar.

[i:d316d20f12]"Poe, this is a small town. There are probably families that've been here since it's inception. Probably a relative."[/i:d316d20f12] Gabriel said, handing the documents back to him.

[i:d316d20f12]"Not according to this."[/i:d316d20f12] Poe said, handing another sheet to Gabriel. The document dated 1941, and was a government medical discharge from the army for injuries sustained in battle. The name read "Archie Vanderbilt". Included was a photo of a wounded, yet clearly regal GI in a cast. He was indentical to the previous photograph. [i:d316d20f12]"Gabriel, he would've been seventy years old in that photo."[/i:d316d20f12]

The Ventrue looked between the two photos, trying to discern some type of difference. But there was none. They were clearly more than relatives, but the photos spanned more than half a century.

[i:d316d20f12]"Kindred perhaps?"[/i:d316d20f12] Poe suggested.

[i:d316d20f12]"Doubtful. He's outside in this photo...during the day."[/i:d316d20f12] Gabriel responded. The Ventrue pocketed the parchments and the two returned to their search for their truant foreman.

Not long afterwards they found their prize. With the address copied, the two snuck upstairs and out the back entrance. As they stepped into the alleyway, light illuminated the nightscape around them.

[i:d316d20f12]"Don't move, both of you!"[/i:d316d20f12] came a coarse cry. The pair of Kindred turned to their assailant, a hunched and gnarled security guard, weilding a fog lamp and a pistol.

[i:d316d20f12]"I'll handle this."[/i:d316d20f12] Gabriel whisped, ushering the Gangrel slightly back. He stepped forward. [i:d316d20f12]"You saw nothing. Your nightly rounds were routine and uneventful."[/i:d316d20f12]

[i:d316d20f12]"Don't come any closer!"[/i:d316d20f12] the ancient sentry cried out, leveling the barrell of his revolver at the approaching Ventrue. Gabriel willed his fortitude and increased his dominance.

[i:d316d20f12]"You saw NOTHING...you will..."[/i:d316d20f12]

The muzzle of the gun lit up and a crack filled the alleyway. The bullet pierced Gabriel's shoulder and sent him sprawling into the dust. Within and instant, Poe leapt forward and tackled the old man, relying on his training to dispatch him quickly and as silently as possible.

The threat neutralized, he returned to the wounded Ventrue, who lay sprawled clutching his shoulder. Thick, black liquid oozed from between his fingers and spilled into droplets in the sand.

[i:d316d20f12]"Gabriel, we should go. Heal and lets get moving."[/i:d316d20f12] Poe stood and turned away.

[i:d316d20f12]"I...I can't!"[/i:d316d20f12] Gabriel whispered, his voice laced with fear. His companion turned.

[i:d316d20f12]"What? Why not?"[/i:d316d20f12]

[i:d316d20f12]"I don't know...I can't heal myself...I can't use ANY of my disciplines."[/i:d316d20f12]

Poe stared in amazement and then cast an eye towards his own hand. Where claws would've normally sprouted at the mearest whim, no amount of effort or will could produce the desired effect. His mundance, uttlerly useless human fingers sat silent and unchanging.

He helped Gabriel to his feet, and the two astounded Kindred shuffled off in the direction of the foreman's address hoping to find aid and some sort of explanation.

((Ohh....

For the second time in his short life, Poe felt truly vulnerable.

Whatever forces drained their car batteries, disabled their cell-phones, and seemed to prevent electrical equipment from working, had also drained their own sanguine energies.

They had painstakingly walked back to the guestroom they had rented since arriving. Gabriel’s arm was strapped to his side with a crude sling made from the security guard’s own tie. Once inside the relative safety of their room, Poe began to gather the scant belongings they could afford to carry with their strength so “descaled”. He strapped Talion to his back, hidden by the more obvious bulk of his ruc-sac, then he considered weapons of a more overt scale.

He left Gabe nursing his injured arm, and crept down to the foyer. A quick inspection of the area behind reception, rewarded him with a firearm. Admittedly it was an old, dusty lever action street howitzer. And furthermore he had no idea of its efficacy. But it reassured him somewhat. He returned to Gabriel, carrying the rusty old gun, and the scant few shells he could locate.

[i:81ddad9d2b]“Try this for size. You can rest it on your arm...least if your aim isn’t up to speed the buckshot should still hit something. Want me to dig out the bullet?”[/i:81ddad9d2b]

He motioned towards the wound. It still seeped blood, but at a reduced rate. Not because of any inbuilt clotting factor, but simply because Gabriel had supported it at such an angle as to stem the flow.

[i:81ddad9d2b]“I can live with it. What about you? Your pistol still working?”

“No. Whatever is crippling us, is something of an antiques enthusiast. The simpler a weapon is, the less it’s affected. Besides, I have this....”[/i:81ddad9d2b]

He patted the sword hilt affectionately, the blue sharkskin shimmering.

We need to move. Whatever is going on here....I have a feeling has something to do with the men in those photographs....

----------

Greegs had made his way, cautiously and creepily, into the town cemetery. His goal, the large ornate tomb of Vanderbilt.

He had been tracing the movements of the two families for some months now, and things just weren’t adding up.

So he found himself carrying a shovel, a crowbar and a torch into the mist shrouded rows of gravestones that led to the central tombs.

His goal reached, he began to loosen the heavy stone from its pedestal, before finally sliding it clear.

He smashed the thick oak coffin lid, revealing the single horrifying truth beneath.

[i:81ddad9d2b]The body has almost completely decomposed! Mostly liquid. Few tissues remain, save for a few bones. If it wasn’t so insane a claim, I’d say the body had been here rotting for decades! What is going on in Akeley’s Field!?[/i:81ddad9d2b]

As if answering his thoughts, two figures emerged from the mist. One clutched his shoulder, but sported a formidable antique of a rifle. The other, a much more physically intimidating fellow, stood alert. They stopped upon seeing him...

[i:81ddad9d2b]“Grave-robbing is illegal you know.”[/i:81ddad9d2b]

Three figures stood motionless atop the bluff, concealed by the dense night. For some time, none spoke, but all listened to the soft ruffle of clothing dancing in the mischievous autumn winds. Below, the gas lights of town appeared dim and fanciful, like fireflies frozen amidst the lost memories of one's youth.

The cemetaries formidable trees rustled impatiently at their unwelcomed guests, the two slowly spreading out around the one. In the darkness, their eyes were all drawn to the cold gleam of metal each possessed.

[i:0acd03ef84]"Who are you? What're you doing here?"[/i:0acd03ef84] the thin figure in the sling whispered at last. His hair was caked with dirt and whipped about his high cheek merrily in the wind. A pair of suspicious green eyes shimmered with anticipation.

[i:0acd03ef84]"I'm a mourner...paying my final respects."[/i:0acd03ef84] was the reply, nearly lost to the howling winds.

[i:0acd03ef84]"Funny way to pay one's respects."[/i:0acd03ef84] the other spoke now, motioning towards the shovel. The two figures stepped forward into the lamp's meager light and Greegs gasped.

[i:0acd03ef84]"Kindred."[/i:0acd03ef84]

The word set a whirl of events into motion, as though the whole scenario had only been a play waiting for it's que. The thin one stepped backwards, groaning in agony as he brought his wounded arm up as a rest for the rifle barrel. His companion spun quickly, his coat concealing his movements temporarily. When his garments settled about his powerful frame, Greegs could see a sword raised at eye level.

The detective himself however, had already drawn bead on the rifle bearers head with his own .38. Silence fell about them once more.

Greggs took note of the injured Kindred. Something about that didn’t quite make sense.

[i:fd6fba98dd]“Aren’t you supposed to be pretty much impervious to harm?”[/i:fd6fba98dd]

Poe’s eyes followed Greggs’. The Kine had a point. Clearly he’d done some reading...

He narrowed his eyes, clasping the cage hilt of his sword with his other hand, strengthening the blade’s resolve.

[i:fd6fba98dd]“Kindred? What are you talking about?”[/i:fd6fba98dd] Gabriel attempted to plead ignorance. He failed.

[i:fd6fba98dd]“Don’t waste your time. I know what you are. That two Kindred are present in such a small town, a town beset by such circumstance. That is a little too auspicious as to be coincidence.”

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t just run you through....”[/i:fd6fba98dd] Poe was growing restless.

Greggs held up the photographs he’d found in the site office.

Gabriel’s eyes widened.

[i:fd6fba98dd]“Right.”

“So I’m assuming you [b:fd6fba98dd]can[/b:fd6fba98dd] enter my abode without my permission.”[/i:fd6fba98dd]

Poe’s stepping over the threshold with a mocking grin was answer enough. Gabriel followed weakly behind, closing the door as Greggs poured himself a stiff drink.

[i:fd6fba98dd]“So. Why are you here?”

“We were going to ask you something along those lines....more importantly, what do you know of the [b:fd6fba98dd]Kindred[/b:fd6fba98dd]?”[/i:fd6fba98dd]

Greggs inhaled the scotch he’d filled a glass with and told them.

----------

[i:fd6fba98dd]“So, you think there’s a connection between the Patriarchs and what is happening tyo the town. What is happening to us?”[/i:fd6fba98dd] Gabriel winced as he turned in the chair he’d rested on.

[i:fd6fba98dd]“Well it is conjecture. But you must surely see there is an alarming coincidence involved. Akeley’s Field is being gradually drained of, shall we call it, energy. Whatever was buried in the earth in Vanderbilt’s grave had been rotting for some decades. Now there are two possibilities. Either Vanderbilt was buried elsewhere and a body was put in his stead. Or the old man was privy to some secret darker than you or I realise.”

“Which leads us to Abercorn.”[/i:fd6fba98dd] Poe piped up. [i:fd6fba98dd]“Both men bear an alarming similarity to the men pictured. A little [b:fd6fba98dd]too[/b:fd6fba98dd] similar.”

“Quite. It seems the town is slowly being crippled. Maybe to prevent us from calling for help. I don’t know. But....haven’t you watched the townsfolk? The way they move? The widespread, repeated deformities.”[/i:fd6fba98dd] Greggs looked at Poe’s eyes.

[i:fd6fba98dd]“And now this. I found a scrawled note about Gilgamesh’s brother.”

“He didn’t have a brother.”[/i:fd6fba98dd] Gabriel remarked.

[i:fd6fba98dd]“Depends on your definition of brother. Men are inherently brothers, no? In that case Gilgamesh had a brother. Called Enkidu.”[/i:fd6fba98dd]

Poe’s eyes darkened.

[i:fd6fba98dd]“Enkidu.”[/i:fd6fba98dd]

Gabriel scratched his chin thinking. [i:fd6fba98dd]“Enkidu?”[/i:fd6fba98dd]

Greggs answered nodding.

[i:fd6fba98dd]“The Wild-Man.”[/i:fd6fba98dd]

((woooooo....but..frank....where is what he had been talking about?!!?!?!?!?

Dr. Kevin Phelps yawned as the long elevator trip to the subterranean lab he was in charge of screeched to a halt. The top secret project was reaching its final stages and he had had no time for rest in the last few weeks. But that was of no importance, he was confident his master would be pleased with the foreseen results.

The project had required years in research and executing, millions of dollars, and the utmost secrecy, not to mention the abilities of the foremost experts in the area, most of which had to be…persuaded…to join the project. But recent results were more than encouraging; Dr. Phelps couldn’t help but to feel eager and even excited. His master would be pleased, indeed.

The ghoulized doctor stepped out of the high-tech secret elevator and into the long, sterile hallways of the lab. As his shoes click-clacked in the metallic floor, Phelps went over his clipboard. He had been summoned by a technician who was making intensive research on the subjects needed for Phase One. Project protocol prohibited to discuss the reason Phelps’ presence was so urgently needed by any means other than in person, but Phelps was sure it would turn out to be a meager technicality, another signature of his that was needed or a dumb fingerprint validation.

He punched the key code and passed the threshold into the Monitoring Center. The vast room was filled with various screens and controls, all of them overlooking, through a thick rocket-proof glass, the immense holding bay the technicians dubbed the “Tube Room”, filled with row after row of vertical glass tubes which contained the subjects, floating in precisely engineered fluid.

“Ok, I’m here, speak.” Phelps greeted the busy lab rats.

Dean Harris, one of the most experienced genetic engineers in the project stood up from his keyboard, a look of concern and disbelief in his face.

“Dr. Phelps, you need to see this”

The look on Harris’ face troubled Phelps, as he walked over to the workstation.

“What is it?”
“There are some …anomalies…with subject one-eighty-two.”

Subject 182 had given trouble before, a few months ago it had actually gained consciousness, to the alarm of the entire staff, but it slipped back to the normal stupor shortly after and was dismissed as a failure in the supplied chemicals.

“Did he wake again?”
“No sir, but….well….look at it yourself”

Harris signaled at his screen.
“These are one-eight-two’s brain wavelengths, and these,” he punched a button on the keyboard, “are the standard ones”

The clones were completely identical, in this stage of their development even their brain wavelengths were exactly the same. The staff used this regular wavelength to detect abnormalities in the subjects during the final analysis of each clone. 182 was abnormal.

“The difference is not discernible at plain sight,” continued Harris, “But when we overlap the saved standard wavelength with this one…well…” he punched another key.

The wavelengths moved to overlap each other and at first Phelps couldn’t see anything anomalous, but then he noticed what Harris had. The wavelength did indeed match the standard one. But it also didn’t.

“What the hell?” Phelps leaned into the screen
“T-the subject’s wavelength matches the standard one just like all the others, but it also possesses un-matching characteristics. It’s as if he were like all the others as well as….something more.”
“How long has this been going on for?” Phelps asked, sitting down, eyes glued to the screen.
“W-well, when we discovered this we dug into the subject’s records…the abnormality is too subtle to be discovered without the overlapping test and we ha-hadn’t—“
“The facts, Harris, there will be time for excuses later.” Interrupted Phelps.

Harris nodded nervously
“Uh…well, it seems the abnormality…the un-matching sequences…have existed for about fifteen weeks.”

Phelps knew heads would roll. Literally. He planned to save his.
“Move one-eighty-two to the observation chamber and study him meticulously from top to bottom with a goddamned atomic microscope. If it so much as twitches again, eliminate it.”
He stood up and was already walking away, assessing the chances of his being able to resolve this without his master finding out, when Harris’ stuttering voice interrupted him.

“Uh…s-sir?”

Phelps turned around. “Yes?”

“T-there’s something else you should… uh… know….”
“What is it, Harris?”
“Um…subject 182 also shows…uh… atypical physical traits.”
“Elaborate, Harris”
“Uh… you should see for yourself, sir.” He signaled to his screen again

Phelps walked back to Harris’ workstation and waited for whatever Harris was so nervous to show him to appear in the screen.

“This is eh…one-eighty-two’s detailed status screen.”

Harris didn’t need to point the abnormality out, status screens had a regular moving bar symbolizing the subject’s pulse. 182’s was still. It had no pulse.
“We’ve quadruple-checked, sir. The reading isn’t wrong. One-eighty-two’s heart is not beating.”

Phelps remained silent. Harris gulped.

After an eternity Phelps spoek again with a soft tone: “Show me his cellular tissue.”

“S-sir?”
“Zoom in to his cellular tissue, Harris. Now.”

Harris complied and began typing as fast as his fingers let him, Phelps leaned into the screen when the result appeared. He studied it scrupulously for a while and then did it again, not believing what his eyes told him. His oh so feared suspicion had been correct. He leaned back into the chair, hands over his face.

“What does this mean?” Harris asked, detecting the unusual cells but not knowing what they meant.

Phelps lowered his hands, revealing an expression deep in thought.
“What that means, Harris, is that subject one-eighty-two is a vampire.”

The trio set about scowering the foreman's records, and with each passing moment the story grew increasingly stranger and the truth more and more obscured. Akeley's Field and it's repugnant history of betrayal and deceit unravelled itself as the three awe struck strangers sorted through tome after tome.

Abercorne and Vanderbilt were names nearly as ingrained in Akeley's Field as the soil itself. The two families had grown rich and corpulent off the hard labor of honest fishermen, reaping the true benefits of their trade. Competition between the two eventually reached a fevered pitch, corroding the town from it's innards out like a cancer.

The rivalry festered and rotted, growing ever more personal. There were whispers of murders and kidnappings. Abercornes and Vanderbilts alike were beaten, raped, and killed along with anyone who stood in their way. Various diaries gave insight into the madness that had possessed some of the town's central inhabitants. No less than five mayors had taken their own lives within the past century.

Breathless rumors of occult activity surfaced, communicated in silent glances and strange tongues. The FBI launched an investigation into the families in the late 1930's, but the agents came back stammering frantically about living trees and mutated beings. Eventually, with the onset of the Second World War, the investigations stopped and Akeley's Field immersed itself within it's own borders once more.

The slouching, ghastly inhabitants of Akeley's Field went about their business for more than half a century, until Poe and Gabriel's arrival.

++++++++++++++++++++++++


[i:12e3e09a26]"These families have been at one another's throat for generations."[/i:12e3e09a26] Gabriel said as he took another long sip of steaming tea and peered out the window nervously, [i:12e3e09a26]"But it's something deeper than that...what could create those...things?"[/i:12e3e09a26]

[i:12e3e09a26]"I'm not sure,"[/i:12e3e09a26] Greggs replied, his nose still buried deep within the personal journal of Cornelius Vanderbilt, it's yellow pages stiff beneath his fingers. [i:12e3e09a26]"but if we're going to survive long enough to get out of here breathing..."[/i:12e3e09a26]

The Kindred looked on.

[i:12e3e09a26]"Err...get out in one piece, we need to get to the bottom of this."[/i:12e3e09a26]

Poe turned from his spot by the mantle and squared up to Greggs.

[i:12e3e09a26]"With the loss of our abilities, it's essentially three against hundreds. We should leave."[/i:12e3e09a26]

Greggs placed the book aside and sat forward in his chair, his elbows resting atop his knees.

[i:12e3e09a26]"That's just it. You can't leave."[/i:12e3e09a26]

[i:12e3e09a26]"Let them try to stop me."[/i:12e3e09a26] Poe growled defiantly.

[i:12e3e09a26]"No...you [b:12e3e09a26]can't[/b:12e3e09a26] leave. The woods won't allow it."[/i:12e3e09a26] Greggs was nearly whispering now.

Gabriel approached.

[i:12e3e09a26]Won't allow it?"[/i:12e3e09a26]

[i:12e3e09a26]"I've tried to leave. It's...unexplainable really. I followed the road out and it leads directly back to town. No matter how far you walk, you always end up in Akeley's Field. There's more going on here than you think."[/i:12e3e09a26]

The Kindred exchanged glances, wondering whether or not to trust the detective. With little choice, they shrugged.

[i:12e3e09a26]"What do you suggest then?"[/i:12e3e09a26] Poe asked at length.

[i:12e3e09a26]"We'll need supplies if we're to keep ahead of them. We must return to the hotel."[/i:12e3e09a26]

The three investigators/pursued made their way to Greggs’ hotel. The human detective didn’t seem as fazed as both Gabriel and Poe expected. In fact, they noticed, he seemed quite prepared. Once in the ever-decreasing safety of the hotel room, they began to make plans and gather what little resources they could.

It was clear that there could be no escape from Akeley’s Field by the normal method. So perhaps if they could not escape the townsfolk’s clutches, they could evade them long enough to get to the bottom of things.

Poe, still bearing Talion’s weight, took a small pistol from Greggs’ bag. Gabriel stuck to using the shotgun, and Greggs’ took his .38 and a pocketful of bullets. They quickly scanned a map of the town, trying to find somewhere they could hold up till things were clearer.

The town’s Chapel was a colonial affair. Resplendent in its whitewashed simplicity. A tall spire, large stained glass windows and a sweetly curved porch that led into the main chamber rounded it all off to a tee.

Poe and Gabriel looked at each other, then at the nodding Greggs who gestured SWAT style that Poe should move forward. Gabriel, being the slowest thanks to his weeping wound moved second, under the watchful eyes of the Gangrel and the human.

As they neared the chapel they heard something strange.

Where they would have expected night-time silence, they could hear raised voices. Not only raised, but chanting.

They crept low to one of the rear windows and listened.

[i:025ea950bd]“Ia! ia! T’linaiee phtah!”[/i:025ea950bd]

They strained to hear the following words. Something about the “Father in the hills above.” A “bull that sires the faithful.” Followed by more “gibbering sounds“. None of them had any idea what language the voices spoke, or even if it was a language.

[i:025ea950bd]“Sounds like they’ve gone insane.”[/i:025ea950bd] Poe whispered. [i:025ea950bd]“I think we should go inside. This has to be connected.”[/i:025ea950bd]

Poe picked the lock on the basement door and the three spilled inside just as two men passed carrying rifles.

They made their way to the internal basement access, pushing it up slowly so as not to be too obvious. The room they entered was empty, but the chanting came from behind the next door.

Pushing it open a crack they saw dozens of figures standing in candlelight, dressed in animal furs and red cloaks. To Greggs it looked little more out of place than a Mason’s Meeting. But there was something unnatural in the chanting voices and the palsied expression in the many faces. The crowd suddenly fell silent, prompting Poe to close the door sharply, stopping to let just a splinter of light through.

The crowd started to sway as a figure was wheeled up to the podium, the platform was covered in candles, animal hides from every local species, and a small indistinct bas relief that even in his haze chilled the Gangrel to his marrow.

The wheeled figure waved off his helper and hushed his witnesses.

[i:025ea950bd]“Abercorn! Look at him! He’s barely even complete!”[/i:025ea950bd]

Gabe hissed through clenched teeth as the should-be-rotting visage of the surviving Patriarch.

[i:025ea950bd]“My brothers! My sisters! The time has come! I, your humble medium for the Horned God, need your help! There are evil men abroad! Men who seek to destroy everything the Horned One has gifted us! Sacrifices have been made, ‘tis true! And yet more must be made!”[/i:025ea950bd]

The unholy disciples mumbled something that Greggs could only assume was akin to an amen.

[i:025ea950bd]“And so I give to you our offering! This newborn infant! A blood gift to our Master!”[/i:025ea950bd]

He placed the still sleeping baby onto a prepared altar, raising his head as though in supplication.

The crowd started chanting again as Abercorn lifted the child’s face to his. Kissing it lightly as it stirred. Then biting hungrily into its fleshy cheek as it awoke screaming.

Greggs had seen bad things happen, but nothing had prepared him for this level of savagery.

Poe wished his claws would extend. The Beast in him surged in his chest, the smell of blood filling the air.

Gabriel.

Gabriel looked on in awe. Such faith. Such horror. Such a delicious notion.

Poe turned to the Ventrue, shaking him.

[i:025ea950bd]“Gabriel? Snap to it man!”[/i:025ea950bd]

The Ventrue shook his head clear. Someone. Or maybe something was in his head. Something terrifyingly cruel.

[i:025ea950bd]“Poe, what do we do?”[/i:025ea950bd]

The baby’s cries ceased painfully. The silence struck the three witnesses hard.

Poe’s eyes darkened.

[i:025ea950bd]“Kill them all...”[/i:025ea950bd]