Mulberry couldn’t have foreseen the events of the evening as they transpired. Neither could his colleague, Ashton. The pair were followers of a rare path among their kin. They were Grey Hunters. That is, Gangrel who chose to manipulate and hunt within the cliques and coteries of both Kine and Kindred society. The two had spent the last few weeks luring and negotiating their chosen prey into their carefully constructed trap.

They hadn’t known, nor would they ever learn how, that they too were being hunted by a feral far in advance of their combined years.

Mulberry left the Ramada - Encore hotel with the slightly tubbier, more cherubic Ashton in tow. Their hunt was to take them across the river to the Gallery nightclub. Mulberry feigned a cough, affirming to Ashton that the prey was in place. His mobile’s screen flashing as a text prompt lit up.

Mulberry wore a besmirched smile, his foppishness accentuated by the waistcoat and fineries he favoured. Ashton resembled a tubby, fashionable sidekick as they strolled leisurely along Mickelgate.

On the east facing wall of the Encore, a trick of the light seemed to shiver it’s way downwards. Before it reached ground level, it seemed to surge forward to a new perch.

Resembling the archaic, gargoyles of the long abandoned church, it looked down upon the pair with dark intent.

Mulberry slapped his colleague’s back and the two joked cruelly about the coming feast.

Something raised the hairs on Ashton’s neck. He looked up too late.

Ashton could only croak as he was hoisted violently upwards by the neck. A crude lariat bit into his undead flesh drawing blood as he was pulled to his doom. Mulberry looked up in sudden terror as he saw the body of his friend disappear with a gurgle, over the lip of the roof. A few seconds passed and the gurgle became a muffled shriek, Mulberry’s vampiric senses picked up the sounds of cloth then flesh being torn asunder. The wet crackings of bones being pulled through skin or shattered in their joints.

This prompted his survival instinct, but it was the shower of rapidly desiccating viscera that finally bolstered him into a Rotshreck. He burned blood as he began to run. Suddenly the hunter was the hunted.

Once he’d looked back towards the rooftop of the derelict church. He couldn’t be sure, but he thought Ashton’s killer was Kindred...or worse.

He crossed the Ouse Bridge, ducking into the remains of a riverside warehouse the Harrison group were prepping for development. Skulking in the shadows his eyes glowed with an unearthly light, bathing the blackness with a reddish hue. He hadn’t seen his pursuer follow him, but he equally hadn’t seen it not do so. The rumbling growl that suddenly echoed around him told him his fears were coming true.

He bolted for the river, a vague shape stepping in his path and swatting him across the rubble strewn chamber, almost playfully.

[i:286df0ba03]“What!? What do you want? What are you!?”[/i:286df0ba03] He babbled almost childishly as the shape dropped to all fours, advancing slowly.

It’s disinterest in answering him sent him over the edge. His claws popping through the fleshy pads of his fingertips, he tried to look at least challenging.

The shape padded closer. It was definitely humanoid, or pretending to be. Lurching forward it resembled a hellish hybrid of jaguar, ape and wolf. The burst of speed, and the creature’s clawed fist punching through Mulberry’s chest were the last thing he saw.

[i:286df0ba03]“Weak.”[/i:286df0ba03]

The creature seemed to look upon the fallen with a mixture of contempt and pity. The sound of approaching sirens made it cock it’s maned head as though considering it’s next move, before it dragged the dying Gangrel into the river with it. Each encumbered step it took making it look more human.

York’s Kindred were under siege.

Since the tumultuous events of recent months. A new Prince had taken in the reins of the city’s undead denizens.

Benjamin Cross was favoured among the Ventrue. He’d taken the city with little resistance, and his first year as Prince had brought much needed stability. In short, he was popular.

But recent nights had shaken things somewhat.

Reports were coming in from all sides of a rogue among their midst.

The few Gangrel still loyal to Karrsh were being systematically picked off one by one.

Their killer?

Tentative voices spoke of the “Wild Ones” mentioned in the fabled “Chronicle of Secrets”. But such comments remained hushed, and even repressed. Cross didn’t need panic so early in his term of office. And the Camarilla certainly wouldn’t tolerate such insane claims.

He had no choice but to declare martial law. Shepherd, York’s Brujah Sheriff, had been investigating the attacks with little success. But he was Brujah, and that made him if nothing else, belligerent.

However for some, the recent affair was nothing but Cross flexing his muscle.

Charlemagne, a loud spoken member of the Toreador clan, drove heedlessly along the Bootham road. Her mind filled with what others would deem as trivial matters. Art, the latest play showing at the Theatre Royal, and of course the next social event.

Her Chrysler Sebring Coupe purred affectionately under it’s mistress’ gentle caress. Carrying her along the rain painted street with unmatched loyalty. It rolled to a halt at the traffic lights nearest Clifton Green, and sat rumbling. It’s great mechanical throat vibrating as she tapped it’s dashboard.

[i:98aeb73301]“Not much farther now kitty.”[/i:98aeb73301]

Charlemagne was quite mad.

She looked across the famous square of grass and tree and clicked her tongue off her teeth.

-----------------------

He hadn’t, for once, planned it.

It was merely an opportunity to be taken advantage of.

Emerging from the cover of an old sycamore, he tensed old, powerful muscles and studied the figure that sat impatiently within the car.

The streets were dead. Literally it seemed.

At 3am, they usually were devoid of everything but the insomniac and the nocturnal.

He craned his neck as though listening then nodded at some unseen ally.

The ground seemed to heave as creatures of all shapes and sizes emerged from their den-realms and burrows.

Moles rubbing sleep from their eyes, insects buzzing to attention, alley-cats hissing as they bounded forward, carrying fleas and rodent passengers into the fray. And last of all four stray mongrels, all led by the humanoid predator that sprinted naked towards the car.

----------------

She hadn’t seen the army coming. She’d been too engrossed in removing an impish hair from her eye. But the car felt their approach. The shiver almost seemed to precede the creatures’ impact upon it’s silver hood.

Charlemagne’s eyes widened with shock as her titanium carapace was beset upon by feline, canine and rodent attack. She screamed as her foolishly open window became black with insects. Beetles and flies quickly filled her rapidly diminishing private space.

She cursed before scrambling out of the opposite door.

Burning what little blood she had to spare she poised herself to teach the unclean hordes a lesson in “manners”.

As her stilletoed heels touched tarmac the animals parted.

Like some hellish parody of the Red Sea the horde made way for their leader.

Stepping through their midst with undeniable grace and unquestionable authority, he strode. Eyes wild and shimmering through the unkempt mane of hair that cascaded upon his shoulders.

Were he properly dressed, she thought strangely; [i:98aeb73301]he[/i:98aeb73301] would look magnificent.

[i:98aeb73301]“Who....?”[/i:98aeb73301]

He tilted his head as though curious as to why she would even ask. Then he nodded once to the left, and once to the right, her eyes following his as they fell upon his animal battalion.

As the mass of fur, chitin, claw and fang surged upon her she remembered something she’d heard in a film.

[i:98aeb73301]“I suddenly remembered my Charlemagne; Let my armies be the rocks and the trees and the birds in the sky”.[/i:98aeb73301]

((aaah...the timeless wisdom of Dr. Henry Jones Senior :)

Open your eyes.

The scene is covered in heather. Or a plant that resembles an old memory of heather.

Each frond of vegetation is dusted with autumn frost. No it’s not dusted with frost. It’s knee deep in snow.

A young boy stands there. Just to your right. He is dressed in a crude kilt. The material resembles homespun wool. He looks afraid.

Look to your left and you’ll see why he is afraid.

A large rusted cage traps a massive black wolf. And next to the cage stands a man. Impossibly tall is the man. And he shares certain features with the wolf. His hair is black, and he’s covered in it. And his eyes are the deepest green. The green of forgotten forests. The green that runs alongside wild trails and frothing brooks.

The man looks anxious for the boy’s welfare. Even through his neanderthalesque appearance, he shows obvious warmth towards the boy.

The wolf snarls. Angry at it’s restriction. Filled with the urge to rip and tear it’s captors apart.

[i:d8e9a7f910]“Boy?”[/i:d8e9a7f910]

The man speaks.

[i:d8e9a7f910]“Don’t be afraid boy. The beast doesn’t want to harm you. It wants to set you free.”[/i:d8e9a7f910]

The wolf stares directly into the boy’s eyes.

[i:d8e9a7f910]“Listen to him cub.”[/i:d8e9a7f910] The wolf seems to say.

Instead the boy closes his eyes and screams.

And so do you.

-------------------------

[i:d8e9a7f910]“Open your eyes bastard!”[/i:d8e9a7f910]

Porter opened his eyes groggily. At first he almost felt relaxed. Then the pain reasserted itself. The howls of agony would shatter glass were there any. But as he stopped screaming he realised he wasn’t near any window. He was strapped onto a rack. And strapped onto his skin were electrodes. Each delivering paralysing jolts, stopping him from breaking the straps.

[i:d8e9a7f910]“Who did you think you were? Entering my city, killing within my domain? Don’t you know the punishment for breaking the laws of domain?”[/i:d8e9a7f910] A figure, hazy at first stepped into Porter’s field of vision.

[i:d8e9a7f910]“Your laws...not mine.”[/i:d8e9a7f910] His throat wavered.

[i:d8e9a7f910]“Not yours? Ha! so you are above the law you think?”[/i:d8e9a7f910]

[i:d8e9a7f910]“Not above law. I don’t recognise your laws....”[/i:d8e9a7f910] He spat clotting blood towards his interrogator. The insult brought pain, as his torturer drove a hooked tool into his chest, twisting the flesh around the stake that added to his restraint.

He grimaced then lost consciousness again.

------------

[i:d8e9a7f910]“Boy!?”[/i:d8e9a7f910] The man looks angry.

The boy’s lips tremble. But he looks up nonetheless.

[i:d8e9a7f910]“See the cage? It’s locked, yes?”[/i:d8e9a7f910] The boy nods.

[i:d8e9a7f910]“Well what is in your hand? Yes that’s it. The key.” [/i:d8e9a7f910]

The wolf paws at the bars as the man tries to explain.

[i:d8e9a7f910]“You have the key. But you are the only one that can open the cage. If you want to get away from this place you’re going to have to let out the wolf.”[/i:d8e9a7f910]

The boy thinks, then shakes his head. [i:d8e9a7f910]“The wolf will eat me.”[/i:d8e9a7f910] His little, troubled mind decides.

The man sighs...

--------------


Porter screamed again as his torturer, peeled back the skin on his thigh.

[i:d8e9a7f910]“Shepherd. Not too fast. I need to heal the wound around the blade. Slower.”[/i:d8e9a7f910] The speaker wasn’t his interrogator. It was a young looking female, and she laid hands on him. As her fingers followed Shepherd’s flaying knife, the flesh knitted together. Until the blade itself was trapped, held fast.

[i:d8e9a7f910]“He’s old. I can feel it on him.”[/i:d8e9a7f910] The female whispered. [i:d8e9a7f910]“Maybe old enough to break free.”[/i:d8e9a7f910] She turned and looked at Porter then.

[i:d8e9a7f910]“But you won’t will you? You’re enjoying it too much.”[/i:d8e9a7f910] She grinned darkly as Shepherd laughed.

Porter groaned as the blade was turned in his leg. He felt his rapidly diminishing blood trickling away. He closed his eyes.

---------------

[i:d8e9a7f910]“Do you want to stay here!?”[/i:d8e9a7f910] The man looks incensed now. The boy steps back.

[i:d8e9a7f910]“No but...”[/i:d8e9a7f910]

[i:d8e9a7f910]“But?”[/i:d8e9a7f910]

The man sighs. [i:d8e9a7f910]“You have nothing to fear from me boy.”[/i:d8e9a7f910]

He steps forward. [i:d8e9a7f910]“The wolf only wants to run with you. Unlock the door.”[/i:d8e9a7f910]

---------------

Porter roared as the branding iron was pressed into his face. He could smell the crisp, smoky scent of his flesh burning. The brand hissed as it bit into his cheek.

[i:d8e9a7f910]“Hurts, yes?”[/i:d8e9a7f910] The interrogator looked down on him.

[i:d8e9a7f910]“This is just the beginning of your end, beast. York is my city. And your kind will be made examples of here.”[/i:d8e9a7f910] Benjamin Cross straightened his tie. His shining black hair glowed in the light of the burning iron. He smiled before patting Shepherd’s shoulders.

[i:d8e9a7f910]“Nicely done, Shepherd. I have a feeling our esteemed guest could take a little more.”[/i:d8e9a7f910] The mute giant nodded in approval.

test))

[i:33d6e33a4c]“The dentist will see you now.”[/i:33d6e33a4c] The voice was undeniably feminine. but his sense of smell told him the speaker was neither. It was Tzimisce judging by the clashing scents of purity and corruption. Porter wrinkled his nose in disgust.

[i:33d6e33a4c]“Oh, you don’t like my perfume? I’m deeply hurt...”[/i:33d6e33a4c] The voice tapered into a giggle as he felt the restraints tighten. A metal tool was forced into his blood starved jaws, prying open his weak muscles.

[i:33d6e33a4c]“My my. What big teeth you have.”[/i:33d6e33a4c]

He tried to answer. Although his voice was slurred, he was in fact saying. [i:33d6e33a4c]“All the better to eat you with.”[/i:33d6e33a4c]

[i:33d6e33a4c]“Please allow me to introduce myself. I am called Holbrook. You might say I am Mr. Cross’ personal physician.”[/i:33d6e33a4c] Another chuckle made Porter cringe.

[i:33d6e33a4c]“He wants me to...”entertain” myself. That I’m to take special care of his esteemed guest. Rather kind of him don’t you think?”[/i:33d6e33a4c]

He feigned a smile. Well with a bulky steel contraption holding his mouth open, it was more like an idiot’s grimace.

[i:33d6e33a4c]“Shall we?”[/i:33d6e33a4c]

Holbrook let it’s patient see everything it intended to do. Raising Porter’s head via a motorised pedal, passing each tool over his face so he could see what was going into his mouth next.

Serrated blades, curving barbs, what looked like a hand-powered drill olden day dentists would have called “revolutionary”. It had them all. And in time, Porter felt them all.

Holbrook started as expected by removing the Gangrel’s bicuspids and canine teeth. As the old, powerless Gangrel moaned, the drill-like device was pushed into each raw wound and turned...slowly. The blades ran dark rivulets along his tongue as forceps pulled it taut.

Holbrook knew exactly how to maximise pain. It was a master at it.

---------------

The cage is buckling now. The boy is crying again. But no longer tears of fear. His eyes are red. His little hands balled into fists.

[i:33d6e33a4c]“Let him out boy. It is time.”[/i:33d6e33a4c]

The boy looks up. His little crimson slash of a mouth is thin, determined, angry. He walks to the cage. His hands rising, holding the key into the lock. Turning slowly.

The wolf pushes the cage open. It wuffs into the boys hand as though reassuring him.

The man fades. Where he stood, the boy now stands. But he is no longer a boy. The wolf fades. Where it stood, the boy now stands. But he is no longer a boy. He closes his eyes one last time, and smiles....darkly.

--------------

((lol, Sorenti could have recommended a good dentist if you'd said you needed work done :P I dunno, these Gangrel, will do anything that's cheap hehehe.....great post man! :)

((AAAAAAHHH!!! You just want to activate that dentist phobia all human beings have deep within, don't ya! Bastard! I love this!

The Guild Hall had stood by the side of the Ouse for centuries. It had survived, albeit barely, the Nazi air raids. The once white walls now marred by the stains of decade old flame. It bore witness to the changes of decade and industry along the river that kissed it’s ancient walls.

A small boat sat moored to the long-thought-sealed access tunnel that was once used to feed cargo off the riverboats.

--------------

He moved like quicksilver on polished glass.

Holbrook could never have known it’s unlife would end so quickly, and with no fan-fare. It’s mutated, bastard body fell drained and headless as the bestail ancient tore free of his bonds.

The next two vampires died quicker, and with even less of a murmur escaping their fanged lips.

In fact it took several more deaths, and more minutes still, for the alarm to be raised.

Shepherd had been made aware first. He assembled his ghoul and Kindred garrison, and set up perimeters along the “subterranean” corridors that ran through the Guild Hall foundations like a hive network.

The sound of suppressed gunfire, still evidently audible, echoed along each passageway. The following screams, and the roar of something old and frankly pissed off, made the Sheriff’s guards shudder.

Cross had been informed. The Primogen, gathered earlier to discuss city matters, had been evacuated. Cross had seen to it personally. His guards escorting each to safe haven.

Heavily armed Brujah, and a massively muscled Gangrel stood both inside and outside Cross’ chambers. He had insisted on staying.

[i:36cce78e8c]“No bastard will drive me from my fucking house!”[/i:36cce78e8c] He’d hissed angrily.

His over-confidence would prove fatal.

The screams intensified outside the massive doors. Cross could only watch as the man-wolf slaughtered his guards. It killed with impunity. Each strike one of precision. Not meant to prolong the victim’s pain. Merely to end it’s unlife.

The corridor outside went silent. Cross flicked the monitor that was fed images from the small CCTV camera that overlooked the door. Yet no bodies were to be seen.

He zoomed the camera to the form of the killing machine that pretended to walk on two legs. His eyes freezing wide as it held something oval in it’s outstretched arm.

Shepherd’s decapitated head looked drunken as the viscera spilled from the neck.

Cross finally felt his luck run out.

The man-wolf tossed the head of it’s enemy. The impact knocked the camera off, blinding Cross as the remaining guards formed a protective circle around him.

They were heavily armed, each bearing a P-90 assault rifle. The Gangrel merely uncrossed his arms, extending 10 deadly claws.

The next few moments ran in slow motion.

The heavy door was torn open. Rending claws, pulling it from the hinges. Super-accelerated gunfire filled the doorway, hitting wood and air. The man-wolf swept through the fans of hot lead, it’s claws severing any thought of survival from the Brujah. The Gangrel guard stepped into the fray, only for his claws to be torn off at the wrist. Porter seemed to look at the now shrieking Gangrel with disgust. He burned blood, drawing out the Gangrel’s beast. Leaving him quivering, and spent.

As he turned his baleful gaze to Cross, he felt the impact of a powerful handgun, buffet him across the room. Caught off guard he stumbled. Cross thought he might win.

[i:99424973c5]“Ha! Got you!”[/i:99424973c5] He cackled, albeit nervously.

Porter rose to his feet. His skin hardening as much as his resolve. Cross frowned, then narrowed his eyes. Attempting to dominate the obviously formidable feral’s mind.

Porter feigned hesitation. He looked drunk, convincing Cross of his submission to the Ventrue mind.

[i:99424973c5]“You will bow down to my will beast! You are mine!”[/i:99424973c5]

Porter looked up suddenly smiling.

[i:99424973c5]“Not quite boy.”[/i:99424973c5]

Cross shrieked as his mind was filled with images. A coalescing maelstrom of painful memories, hated faces, fire, blood and at the centre. The wolf.

He fell to his knees. Suddenly devoid of Ventrue dignity as he wept blood.

Porter’s vengeance was swift. And brutal.

((we certainly need to enroll the ole Gangrel is some Kung Fu classes... some karate with those attacks would be sweeeeeet.


great post though

He never expected leaving York to be so simple.

After he’d slaughtered the city’s Prince and much of his court, he’d thought the remaining Kindred, particularly the Primogen council, to try and seek retribution.

Yet they hadn’t so much as coughed in his direction. He headed north. Flying as far as night would allow, sleeping in the earth until just after dusk. He’d reached Glasgow in a matter of a few days.

The city was the exact opposite of York. It lacked the historical finesse of the previous city. But at least he was sanding on Scot’s soil.

He grinned as he emerged from the Clyde. The floating restaurant that lay moored opposite the city’s main Casino was, as always, full. But as Porter had never seen either, it meant nothing to him.

He looked upstream, noting the gleaming, sterile pyramid of glass that housed the St. Enoch centre. Had he only known the building’s title, he might’ve laughed. The rumble from the right made him look up. A few late night trains passed over the bridge, sending miniscule vibrations down the bridge supports into the river’s surface. His keen vampiric senses twitched at the low frequencies, then stopped as he headed for a vantage point.

The climb to the roof of the Hilton took time, even for such an expert climber. But the view was worth it.

Glasgow, from here, looked like an American city in miniature. The glass fingers pointing at God, the older streets herded into clusters by their 21st Century counterparts. He sniffed disdainfully at the pollution that hung thread-like, invisibly, in the air and flew.

An hour later he landed with a soft thud on the grasses that ran south of the Erskine bridge. The stretch of lights and civilisation lay behind him. Taking to the air again after adjusting his plumage, he headed north for Loch Lomond. Something drew him north. A strange compulsion he couldn’t pinpoint. But he needed the holiday.

((And so ends this infernal thread. It wasn't what I planned, partly because I hadn't the time to dedicate to it. It was originally supposed to involve Porter being tested, hence the title, but ah well. Anyway, if you're at all interested, I'll be joining Gabriel in Rome on the Whispers thread. Hopefully with a little direction, and interaction, I'll get Porter back on track.