Ezekiel

DC Unlimited

@Ezekiel I like what you've done with the Flash but I need more folks to either be active JLU or Titans to build up larger crossovers and such. Solo heroes dominate the roster right now.

- Ω

@Omega Man

Well I'm planning something with Ruby which would at least bring two of the solos together, if that helps.

I really don't see the Barry I want to play already being a part of either to begin with, although it wouldn't be impossible to rp a transition out.

Sorry if that means I can't take part.

EDIT:

To clarify I certainly want Barry to join a team, the Titans tp begin with, but I'd rather rp out the neccesary character changes before it happens.

DC Unlimited

Hopefully this all checks out! A little light perhaps on arcs and supporting cast, but I think I'd like to get a feel for playing the character before I nail down any more details on that.

The Flash

The Flash - The Lightning Thief - Nomad

Status
Solo

Age:
19

City:
Born in Central City, but never remains static for long

Day Job:
Masters Student at Central City University

Powers:
Barry Allen is the source of mysterious phenomena he has named 'The Speed Force.' Self study has revealed a range of abilities connected to the Speed Force and his ability to generate it, the most obvious being super-speed and the protective capabilities to survive the consequences of such. As well as possessing superhuman agility and reflexes, the Speed Force has also granted Barry superhuman durability, accelerated healing and electrokenesis. In reality the Speed Force grants him a far wider range of power, stretching to interstellar and dimensional travel, but the Speedster himself has only made tentative leaps with the range of his power, careful that his experimentation does not, in some way, harm the world around him.

Beyond his physical self, the Speed Force has also drastically accelerated his way of thinking, an already exceptional intellect pushed to be able to operate at a speed that would make super computers envious. This is what enables him to act and react while using the power of the speed force, but is equally useful in the day to day.

Weaknesses
The most obvious cap on Barry's potential and ability is simply that he is unaware of the extent of them. His very being may be the sole generator of the speed force, but that does not grant him innate understanding and he is the only individual to have ever studied its effects. The Speed Force seems inherently weak to low temperatures, pushing this low enough can even put a stop to his powers, including his accelerated healing. The most common 'negative' side effect of the Speed Force is the extent to which it pushes his metabolism, consistently using his abilities will drain him until he intakes an great deal of calories.

His own personality is largely a positive, a desire to push himself and a general belief in justice, he can also be overconfident in regards to his capabilities, both in terms of his intellect and new, meta-natural abilities. His powerful sense of right and wrong, reliant only upon his personal beliefs and judgement can be abrasive, although this is often masked behind the carefree facade. Years of abandonment and challenge have resulted in failure and rejection striking him particularly hard, to the point he will avoid pushing matters entirely if he does not feel he has secured the outcome.

Skills
-Computer Science: An interest developed hopping between foster homes, later pursued in Education, his ability within the digital world was only magnified following his encounter with the Speed-Force, benefited by his new accelerated thinking and manipulation of electricity, Barry's understanding of Computer Science exceeds the greatest 'mortal' minds of humanity. This has enabled him to 'enroll' himself in several nationwide universities to study courses which only further increase his ability. For all his daring in the real world, the majority of his 'Prince of Thieves' style actions, of reallocating wealth from undeserving individuals, happens within the scope of 'cyber space.'

-Engineering: One of Barry's alternate aliases has studied engineering at the higher education level, something that, combined with his accelerated mind and powers, enabled him to design the Flash Suit, and comes in handy fairly often.

-Eidetic Memory: A side effect of the Speed Force no doubt, but now stretching beyond the time he was struck, well into his past.

-Creative Arts: Despite his scientific leaning, Barry has a fair few (reluctant) creative abilities. He enjoys drawing, in a great variety of styles and is an impressive singer when pushed. He is a more than competent dancer, having lived with several foster homes which impressed the 'hobby' upon him, although he takes little joy in these memories.

Appearance

Bio

Barry Allen was born to Henry and Nora Allen, hailing from rural Iowa they lived a simple, often hard existence in an increasingly under-performing industry, left behind by the new American Dream. While Barry was still young, his mother became a qualified chemist, enabling her to find a job in the relatively booming economy of Central City, a situation they hoped would provide their son a more vibrant upbringing than their own. This, in a cruel twist, would eventually cause quite the opposite. When Barry was eight years old his mother was killed in a violent assault. The whereabouts of his father were never determined, for he disappeared on the same night. The investigation never fully confirmed or denied any foul play from Henry Allen, although to those who had known the man, even those who might have suggested he could have murdered his wife, the idea he would abandon his son to escape justice seemed very much at odds. Regardless, the murder, and disappearance, became one of many cold cases in the violent life of a city.

With no remaining relatives 'back home' in Iowa, Barry instead spent his childhood bouncing between foster homes and parents. He was not a particularly 'trouble child' having developed, even young, a keen mind and sense of right and wrong that prevented him from becoming a nightmare to deal with. Despite his, Barry never applied himself well, or made particular effort to root himself with any particular foster family, his coping mechanism apparently to withdraw from life entirely. Outwardly, while he may have avoided trouble, as he grew older he took to increasing private risk and trouble. He became fixated with the actions of those he deemed to control the 'system' breaking into private and government property, partly for the risk, partly to discover what might be found hidden behind closed doors. It was this habit which eventually lead to him, at the age of 17, being involved in the incident that would bind him to the Speed Force. Star Labs had long been attempting to develop alternate forms of energy to power Central City, for eventual use elsewhere, and it was one of these facilities in which Barry had managed to find his way inside, not into the private corridors of the true labs, simply into the outer building itself well after the facility had been closed. This evidently did not prevent Security from rushing to intercept him once his presence, easy enough to detect, had been realised. Rather than simply attempt to escape, something pushed Barry to run 'up' instead, dashing up stairways in a frenzy of adrenaline to avoid those chasing him, pushing ever higher to the roof.

It was there that Barry found himself atop the Star Labs facility, among a building storm. Athletically capable, he had avoided his pursuers, but with nowhere to go, he could only hide among the equipment and ventilation systems atop the scientific research centre. Moments before he would inevitable caught, the lightning would strike. Honing in one the figure atop the roof, the electric power of the storm would strike the conductive elements of the equipment around him, the charge colliding with whatever systems Star Labs were presently testing, releasing a vast amount of unknown energy, entirely encompassing the young Barry Allen. When warning alarms finally ceased and the damage of such a freak accident contained and security staff finally made it to the roof after their original 'stowaway' issue, the young man was not to be found, already harnessing what he would eventually name 'The Speed Force.'

Since then, Barry Allen has remained on the move, his care-free, standoffish attitude modified by the accelerating power of the Speed Force to always push himself onwards, but remain hidden from the wider world. His already budding talent for computer science exploding into the realms of the unique, he has been able to access a vast array of education and facilities previously shut away from him. In his travels he rights what he perceives to be wrongs, largely the generic superhero faire, but taking on the element of a 'Robin Hood' style character at times, both in the real world and in computing. It took another Star Labs 'break in' for him to design and create the 'Flash Suit' in its current, advance form, his latest project. But even Barry knows that he cannot run forever, and soon the world may force him to step beyond the limitations of his urban myth persona, and act the true hero.

Story Arcs:

Nomad:

For three years Barry has remained on the move. While Barry Allen may still officially reside in Central City and be enrolled as a Masters student of the University, several other personas across the nature are in actuality, Barry in 'cyber disguise' attending different colleges with a variety of false backgrounds. While this has entertained and enraptured him for a while, Barry must soon decide what his superpowered life will have in store for him, or remain trapped in a prison of perpetual motion.

The Robber and the Sheriff

Barry has not necessarily always been subtle in the manner in which he enacts his chosen form of justice. Even the superpowered might need to take caution with exactly who's money they have been messing with.

Son of Iowa, Daughter of Krypton

To be determined plotline with Supergirl

Supporting Characters
-Fellow Students at Central City U

DC Unlimited

Hi there folks. Grabbed my interest.

Think I'll be writing up a rather unique take on the Flash (Barry Allen) if that's all good with folks.

World of Darkness: City of Angels

Los Angeles
Lubbock

Ash and dust crumbled beneath boot as the figures made their way through the ruins of what had once been an enviable home. Overlooking the sweep of LA without being caught in the cacophony that was the Metropolis, it had been one of those places that you could only ever afford if you already lived in one.

These details were lost of those in attendance, not that one could envy much of the charred rubble that surrounded them. A few walls remained standing, enough to provide the outline of the house that had stood, but little more. Little more than ash and dust.

The first figure, taller, more regal, than the comparatively squat beings that followed him, came to a stop. The position wasn't obviously noteworthy, other than being somewhat central to the ex-property, but to the man in question, it had all the note upon this wretched Earth. Lubbock knelt in the dust, although the dirt refused to cling to him, even his clothing protected by the aura of perfection that surrounded the ancient Kindred.

"So. Christopher. This is where you died." His palm spread out upon the ash covered floor, as if attempting to grasp something that was perpetually out of reach, cruelly separated by the crushing weight of the land itself.

"Even in death you disappoint me." The words were ripped from his lips, but they tumbled out with the same smooth command of words that any phrase from Lubbock's mouth. They seemed devoid of emotion, but the fire that burned behind his eyes told a different story. Memories, past the drag of time, of kinship, and shame. "My Son." His voice almost cracked. A flinch so utterly minor as to never register from anyone else, but to come from this being, was enough to make the trio of lesser kindred following him recoil in shock.

"D...Dark Father...What is this place?" The mewling Sabbat wretch trembled, eager to be the first to serve, to wipe away whatever minor tribulation affected the being they were sworn to, and earn himself some minor favour with the powers that be.

"This place? Just another stain on this accursed continent." Lubbock stood with effortless grace, he was facing his companions before they even realised he had moved. His expression did little to calm the weak-willed thralls as they looked upon their master. "America...it is all so....provincial." His face was inches from the other kindred's now, a state of affairs that the weaker being did not enjoy, craning his neck down to avoid making eye contact with the ancient kindred, but try as he might, his eyes were pulled upwards, unable to resist the pull of Toreador's finest.

"My people had built monuments, cities, alphabets, methods of science and understanding that even now kine fail to master and improve, all while the savages of this continent had barely stumbled upon the concept of fire." Lubbock's tone was whimsical for a moment, before his voice crashed in a quiet crescendo of rage.

"And they took him from me." In his blood he could feel it, could sense the conflict that had taken place. The betrayal, the rage, the war. There were unknowns, granted. More than Kindred had fought it, beings of perhaps even greater power. But the Kindred had been of his blood, grand childe and beneath had struck down his progeny. It was Lubbock, not they, who had the right to decide the scope and purpose of his dynasty.

"Oh....Caine save us." One of the thralls whimpered, unable to maintain their silence in the force of Lubbock's emotion as his presence filled the air, the aura of the ancient kindred enough to terrify on its own. Lubbock turned his attention from the nearest to this new target, crossing the ground between them in a painfully slow stride.

"You think that of Caine? You think he notices your worship, little gnat?" He stopped an inch short, but still looking down upon the now shivering creature, who had no words in the face of Lubbock's intensity. Instead, the ancient kindred simply lifted his own head up a fraction, as if craning for a noise.

"Listen to that? Next to silence. You may hear the city, far away, but I imagine it is blissfully quiet." Lubbock exhaled, as if mournfully. "Now, behold my every moment, and then speak to me of Caine as his mercy." Lubbock rested his palm atop the thrall's head, and opened his mind to his.

For every moment of his unnatural life, Lubbock had listen to the will of Arikel, the bickering of the greater kindred that now slumbered beneath the Earth, the fever dream of unfathomably old and powerful vampires from before the age of man. His every waking moment was beset by the chattering of their ambitions, their curses, claws tugging at the skein of his sanity and existence.

Behind them all, was the blazing dark sun of Caine. The beating heart of all Kindred, burning rage and unquenchable first. The guilt of the very first murder. Lubbock allowed himself to slip into it all, a rare occurance, as he let the noise wash over the Sabbat thralls as well, allowed them a glimpse of his eternity.

When he awoke once more, they were dead. One had removed their own features, their form twitching as the final death overcame them, even a Kindred unable to survive the extent of self harm inflicted in those fleeting moments. The others were already ash, the remains of their bones tangled in the rage enduced conflict that had ended them. He was almost sorry to have missed it.

Simple pleasures, simply joys, my darling

It was her, the voice made him shudder, but he recovered without response, snarling to dismiss the siren song of Arikel in his mind. Not tonight.

He had a plane to catch.



Hardestadt

"Reports from India remain inconclusive, but what cannot be disputed is the death toll continues to rise, experts indicate that -

He cut the audio from the report with a dismissive wave. The news itself, of what was occurring upon the Indian subcontinent, could not be so readily ignored, but Hardestatd had no current care for what the Kine thought of the situation. He was still concerned with mitigating a wider discovery among Kindred, worry first about that, and then the Masquerade. Another web of lies on top of another web of lies.

Hardestatd exhaled forlornly, his eyes moving from the reports in front of him to his view of the continental US below. The lights of civilisation were few and far between, an expanse of dark stretching out before him.

"Feeling a little glum, childe?" The voice was silk, coming from the figure sat opposite him that had not appeared to be there until a moment before. Unusual for someone to join the Camarilla Elder in so informal a manner while he was working. Even more unusual for the fact they were currently flying aboard one of his fleet of private jets.

There was a surge of movement as the two Kindred bodyguards present blinked to their feet. Both were armed with handguns, specifically modified in both build and ammunition to be more useful against the usually hardy Kindred, but after only a split second of recollection, Hardestadt knew this would be more than pointless even so.

"Lubbock, I would say welcome aboard, but I have a feeling you've been here rather longer." His tone was measured, but it concealed a very frantic mind. Almost palpable in the air, both Ancient Kindred were gathering their power for an imminent conflict.

"Hardestadt, you're looking...young." Lubbock smirked knowingly at the comment, a ribbing jest that passed over the present guards without them registering it, intent only on keeping Lubbock within their sights. In truth, he had mostly likely been there the entire flight. Perhaps not so close to Hardestadt, but a being of Lubbock's ability could had stood among the guards and simply willed them not to notice him.

"Attend to our pilot, see that he is not distracted." Hardestadt commanded them without moving his eyes from Lubbock, to do so would be to open himself up to any manner of aggression, although he doubted his opponent would resort to the physical."

"Sir I-" One began a protest, but thought better of it when Hardestadt waved them off. Both nodded, sidearms holstered, before leaving the pair of ancients within the passenger cabin.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Matthew?" Few would have ever refereed to Lubbock by his given first name, it was a simple trick, to remind the Methuselah that Hardestatd was also from a time where beings such as they had walked in greater number. Perhaps some ancients were fragile enough to waver at such a surface slight, but not Lubbock, who barely seemed to register it.

"What are your interests in Los Angeles?" Lubbock was entirely without subtlety, but that was not a skill he required at this moment. As the Ancient spoke, Hardestadt felt the will of Lubbock crashing against him, a tide of dark power that even he struggled to hold up. While the two men appeared to simply be speaking cordially, the physical concealed a battle of titanic wills, two masters of presence attempting to engulf the other. Even before he spoke, Hardestadt knew he was losing.

"I might ask you the same."

"I am not the mastermind of an international society, I have rather more free time on my hands. What is so interesting that you feel it necessary to abandon the seat of your Empire at a time like this? You are the most interesting creature I've stumbled upon in months."

"So you have been in the New World for some time, Lubbock, I imagine recent developments may be attributed towards yourself?" It was an obvious deflection, steering the conversation away from a subject he was not willing to crumble on, just yet, even as the desire to simply grant Lubbock his every desire grew within him. Thankfully, for whatever reason, it was a distraction Lubbock was willing to take.

"Indeed, your pawns were rather easy to root out of San Francisco, perhaps you should have exported more accomplished Princes."

"The Sabbat, Lubbock? You disappoint me, you have been a fine Prince in years gone by."

"You believe I still care for your meaningless sects? Your paltry ambitions. The Camarilla was always a game, a past time to while away the years on, that some of you, and your ilk, took to heart. I am no longer intrigued by games, and I play for higher stakes. Lesser Kindred may care about such labels, but all are tools to the true elders." There was madness dancing in Lubbock's eyes, a madness that Hardestatd did not recall from their last meeting.

"You have fallen, Lubbock, where once you were among our greatest."

"You are a sniveling rat, Hardestatd, clutching to the fever dream of you sire because the true night terrifies you, but it is coming, all the same, just like any pawn you will be used as I see fit."

"You call me a rat, Lubbok, scurrying beneath your notice, as you play your long games with your ancients. Have you heard of the Dinosaurs, Lubbock? Great, powerful creatures that ruled this world for millennia before Caine even thought to murder Abel, while mammals scampered about them, beneath their notice. Where are the dinosaurs now Lubbock? And where are the mammals? You make think yourselves untouchable, but these games you ignore are building the future. The True Night shall come, like a meteor, and you will be too overt in your power to be ignored. Myself, and the rest of the scurrying rats, shall inherit the Earth." It was a desperate ploy, more intricate than the last attack on Lubbock. Hardestatd couple not hope to match Lubbock's will or power, but the spider had other means to avoid death.

"The sad thing is, when the final death claims you, I won't even be able to hang your bones in my museum." It was enough. White hot rage bled off of Lubbock, and in that rage, a crack. Hardestadt summoned enough will to act, pushing past the deafening force of Lubbock's presence to drive his will, like a finely honed blade, into the being before him. As he had suspected, the being in front of him was not Lubbock in true form, but a projection, a powerful work of magic and vampiric ability to allow the Ancient to act without fear of the final death. Distracted for a moment from its maintenance, and Hardestatd was powerful enough to put a stop to it.

With a howl of rage, the projection of Lubbock broke apart, coating Hardestatd, and the interior of the jet, in a spray of black, rotten, blood.

Hardestatd allowed a moments pause, his eyes returning to the window, before removing his phone from his right pocket, speed dialing through to his temporary office in LA.

"Victoria? Mhm, yes, please arrange an appointment with the company tailor, I'll require a new suit by the morning."

Warhammer: End Times Nation Roleplay Interest Check

<Snipped quote by Ezekiel>

What in particular do you have in mind? The story is only loosely based on the official lore of the end times and I intend to give rather large player agency. However this has to be within reason. Bretonnia is still feudal Western Europe, Kislev is still Balto-Slavic Renaissance Europe, etc.

@Andreyich

Simply whether I'd be able to rewrite some details of a nation's history, put different individuals in charge of nation and perhaps change their approach towards the other peoples of the world.

I.E. A more martial Ulthuan making greater attempts to reform their empire, etc.

World of Darkness: City of Angels

I enjoy how the skyline incorporates the tower he met Hardyboy in. Fairly common for LA skyline pics though to be fair.

Warhammer: End Times Nation Roleplay Interest Check

Would players be able to customise their nations to be more divergent from canon? An alternative take on a nation, so to speak.

World of Darkness: City of Angels

Los Angeles
The Nights of Last Summer

Nines rolled with the punches.

These were lessons he had learned well before he had entered the world of the Kindred, but they were lessons he had put to far better use since then he ever had before.

Los Angeles was aflame, caught in a civil war between two people he had both considered allies at different stages. Two people who had mislead the Anarch movement from its inception, but ultimately made it possible.

For some, that might have come as something of a speed bump. A crisis of identity. Not Nines, Nines rolled with the punches. He dished them out as well.

The latest to encounter this last fact was an unfortunate Gangrel Kindred of whome there was very little left. Nines finished the blow which would end the kindred's struggle, for now, before ducking to avoid a hail of fire, keeping low to the ground, he darted across the street. Usually the streets of the city made for little cover from aggressive fire, but such was the devastation around them that he made it across without a scratch, not even having to depend upon the heights of his supernatural ability, moving between the burned out shells of unfortunate vehicles.

Awaiting him, a few pensive looking faces. Another pair of Brujah, fellow Anarchs who would follow him regardless of his stated allegiance. None could command the loyalty of the Anarch Burjah like Nines Rodriguez, none perhaps save Smiling Jack, and neither had ever looked for the leadership many had tried to shove upon them. The other face was apart from the others, a slight Ventrue, Rachel was one of Eva's coterie, and spoke to their current loyalty. It had not been hard, while the Kid might command the loyalty of some of the Anarch greats, the old guard, he was also visibly insane, as far as Nines could tell. His rebellion had been a key part of Eva's own. With both Nines and Catlin (Yanci, he corrected himself) urging them to forsake the advice of their embittered elders, the younger, more populous, Brujah of LA seemed to sway in their bulk towards Hollywood's hidden mistress. This was not to say there was not plenty of fighting still to be done. The Sabbat pushing their limits within the city only further complicated matters.

"We're in a right hole here. They have us pinned up against the Sabbat, no way we're getting out of here in one group." Nines broke the news to the others. A few last minute changes in allegiance had left them in a rather exposed position once the fighting had started in full. Rachel had been in position to secure key assets for their rebellion, while Nines and the others were sent in to secure Rachel once it looked like a few too many faces had broken their promises to support them against the Kid. Such behavior would be repaid, but only if they lived through the night.

"Diego and I will run at their guns, see if we can't get their full attention. Our car's a few blocks away, you two get out of here, regroup with the others, then come get us." It was typical Nines bravado and heroism, but it had never failed him yet. Rachel wasn't particularly self serving for a Ventrue, but she had a duty to perform to Eva, and she couldn't do so dead. Equally, Nines' reputation was hard to avoid, he always survived things like this.

It would not go to plan though, not this time.

It wasn't a failure on their part, Rachel and her Brujah companion were fast and smart, Nines and his were fast and hit hard, and loud. But these were not just Sabbat they were facing, they were up against those who until a day ago would call them allies, and they knew Nines as well, knew the stunts he would pull, and there was more of them than they thought.

More than there should have been

The thought crossed Rachel's mind as she once again, for what seemed like the hundreth time, hunkered down in cover, like a soldier in a warzone, not the exceptional lawyer she was. This wasn't her element, but even then, her mind raced, pulling apart the situation. None of it made sense. There should not have been enough opposition to keep both split parties pinned down, but all physical evidence suggested otherwise. Somewhere, hidden in the equation, was a factor none of them had foreseen.

Their assailants were approaching. There was only so much cover a side street could provide, and, assured that the other half of their targets were pinned down elsewhere, they were free to move from their own cover, approaching for a better angle. Rachel had a gun in her hand, that was rare enough, the Brujah with her was equally armed. It would be hard, but they might just make it out. If only she had a few more moments, she could have picked the situation apart better.

Then, drifting over the air, drifting louder than fires burning nearby, of the boom and patter of gunfire, was the oddest noise. Music.

Sometimes I get my head in a dilly
Feeling so lost, ticking you off

She couldn't pinpoint the noise, nor could their assailants. The crack of their suppressing fire diminished, as they tracked the area around them for a new target. Not a large enough window for Rachel to act, but enough for her to note. The music continued on, the chirpy tune anathema to the events it underscored. She could hear the rival Brujah talking among themselves, ordering sweeps of the area, before another voice carried over them.

"What a lovely n-"

The crack of gunfire interrupted the voice. It had been melodious, even sing song, before it had been interrupted.

Baby there's a Shark in the Water

"Now, that was quite rude."

The explosion of noise that followed the crescendo of the song exceeded even the improbable blast of the song. The chatter of the Brujah became more eratic, desperate, before they were met with only the occasional scream. Among it all was a powerful void of sound, an efficiency of movement and power that rendered their attack a blind spot to the senses. There was almost a supernatural pull at them, and within the next few moments both Rachel and her Brujah companion could not help but start to leave their cover simply to gaze upon what had occurred.

They glimpsed only the final moments of their circumstance, a male kindred, who had moments before been their aggressor, stumbling down the alley. His leg had been shattered, but he clung to defiance, or terror, either way he moved towards them, but there was no hostile intent to his actions. Simply the desire to get away. He did not make it far. There was a crack in the air, and the Brujah toppled forwards.

Standing above him, was a Kindred. Young of feature, almost achingly handsome, watching as the gangster-turned-kindred crumpled to the ground, before descending into the ash of Final Death. When the newcomer looked up, he did so with a smile that was hopelessly disarming.

"Ah, there you are." He spoke, with that sing-song voice.

"Who...who are you, why did you help us?" The words were not Rachel's, she had yet to find her's, although something about the manner in which the newcomer took his next few steps towards them filled her with dread.

"Help you? Didn't you hear the song."

--------

Pain.

Pain was everything that she was.

She had possessed a name once, identity, but it was lost in the feeling. She writhed in the darkness, her own mind pulling itself apart, as he took her secrets from her.

"Unusual, I suppose. Most of our Kind only rely on their own blood. But you, an adopted little Ventrue childe. It seems the grand-chile is much like her sire, for all his flaws."

Those were words that had meaning, she could remember that, but she could not placed them, as she writhed upon the ground. Ground that was slick. The floor, she realised, was awash with blood. Had it always been so? She couldn't remember. As soon as she realized this, the hunger returned, the aches of her body felt worse, almost enough to drown out the pain of her mind. Even as she convulsed, she gulped down the vitae, surprised, and horrified, to discover it was still warm. Once she had done this, her mind returned to its destructive pain.

"Fear not, none of what you are will go to waste, all your wasted independence, the folly of your mind, shall be honed to a greater purpose."

Despite herself, the words comforted her. She could not remember what it was to not be commanded by him, for what he said must be so. Even as she thought such things, the pain subsided, as if such things pleased the malignant force that consumed her very being. A sob escaped her, a sob of purest relief at the slightest lessening of her pain. Her eyes cracked open, and she looked upon her surroundings. The vitae ran across the ground, but the walls. The walls were mirrors.

"An easy trick. I once broke a Lasombra here with the barest effort. Merely allowed them to stare into the abyss that was themselves for an eternity. The Sabbat are even easier than you, mayfly." Again, those words, names, had meaning, but she could not hold them, but it did not matter, the pain was less. She could not see him, the voice was from above, behind, to the side of her, ever out of her vision as she twisted to glimpse the voice. Then it spoke again.

"Rachel, wake up."

She was herself again, the memories flooded in, meanings, identity. The ghost of the pain remained, and she could not rid herself of it. It was only then that she realized where she was. She had moved.

The face that looked up at her was the same from the night. The night that seemed so long ago, still as handsome, still smiling, still without the barest hint of warmth. She was straddled across the man. She could not remember moving, let alone bringing herself so close to anyone.

She screamed, and attempted to pull away, but found she could not. The noise, and her effort, seemed only to stir his cruel features further to mirth.

"L...L..Lubbock." She managed, with the return of her identity, so came her knowledge, and she connected dots just as fast as she would in any other situation. Hints from Eva, reports of the mad ravings of the Kid. The kind of power he demonstrated in his barest movement, this was everything the Kid had feared and more.

"Good, good. " Recognition seemed to please him further. He reclined atop a simple chair, sat at the centre of the same room as before, although the floor was quite dry, and mirrored. She wondered if the other details had simply been the inventions of her failing mind. The fact she was there, atop him, seemed almost inconsequential to him. "Alas, little mayfly, this may have been an entertaining evening, but, you have fulfilled your use."

"They...she...will find you." She managed to murmer, once again she felt the pressure of his will upon her, speaking was becoming difficult again, almost as constricting as whatever force held her in place. It was as if his very existence was enough to crush her will to nothing. Lubbock noticed this, and the grin only widened.

"Perhaps they will not have to." The elder kindred held something aloft, a dagger, although it seemed to pulse in the air, with a languide motion, he placed it over his own heart, point first, before, slowly, he moved her hands with his own, placing them atop the hilt of the dagger, while he held it steady.

"Kill me."

The command struck her like a direct blow. Her eyes roamed to his, the unfathomable darkness they held within them, before drifting back to the blade.

"Go on, do it. Think of all that you'll save, maybe even yourself, but certainly your allies, friends, coterie," He continued, his voice a full sing-song once more. Internally she strained, screamed, urged herself to do so. The muscles of her arms bulged as she fought to do it. But even as she wished to, even as he commanded, her thoughts clouded with the same miasma as before. She saw his features and witnessed perfection, for every inch of her that wished to slay him, another fought back to simply crawl and bow.

"Come along now."

She wailed, but she did not no if the sound passed from her lips. Tears ran down her eyes, sobs wracked her as she tried. Tried desperately to press the dagger those few extra inches, to push into his heart whatever arcane relic the dagger was, for it hummed with power.

"KILL ME." He roard, an avalanche of noise, as if his patience has run out. In that moment she crumbled, and with another shriek, a true one, found her strength and pulled the dagger up, before plunging it down.

Into her own heart.

The last thing she heard as the Final Death claimed her, as the vitae that rejuvenated her Kindred form splattered across the man who had shattered her mind.

Was laughter.

Laughter and music.

Baby, there's a shark in the water
I caught them barking at the moon

World of Darkness: City of Angels

The Region of Yaa
3000 BC

The accursed Sun beat down upon them, the scattered few, as they climbed through the heat-cracked rocks of the foreign land. They had fled far, as far as one could flee, and still judgement burned from on high.

Lucifer surveyed the world around him. Even here, far from the cradle of Eden, man and life had begun to grow, to flourish. Already there had been wars and strife between the tribes of humanity, already one had crushed the other and given name to the dirt they died upon. His whole form tensed at the thought. It could all have been so different. He sighed forlornly as he turned to look upon what remained of his retinue, His hard expression turned to one of slight worry as he watched them. Heat and exhaustion had drained them, burns across their skin, ribs showing from lack of sustenance. Worst of all, he could sense the insidious growth of the cancers which plagued them. He did not know if that would be their end, ultimately, but it was a life of following him, regardless of their mortal frailties, that had brought them to this.

It could all have been so different.

"Stop. We are here."

The noise almost crashed against them, even hidden within a human shell, the power of the first Elohim was almost too great for a mortal human to bear. It was not unpleasant, he instilled as much hope as he did terror, but both were dangerous, both prevented any true guile. He would have to learn to hide more thoroughly.

Once they had recovered from the briefest pulse of Lucifer's power, the humans collapsed, setting about in the creation of a camp. They did not know he meant the end of their journey together, that this truly was the last 'stop' these three who had remained by his side for so long, but he would allow them to believe otherwise for the time being.

They had crested the rise of hills and mountains into a great basin, stretching out before them. Encountering the tribes that had recently driven off the original inhabitants, they knew its name to be Yaa. It had potential, the soil was fertile, despite the heat, and the sea was plentiful, as it often was. None of these things were why Lucifer had looked for this place, that was far beyond the scope of human frailty or prosperity, but he made note all the same. At least he was not abandoning them into the jaws of starvation for all time.

He strode away from them, as topics of conversation arose among them. The desert cloaks he was wrapped in whipping in the sea wind. Still they were stitched with the icons of Babel. The first great city, his city. Even with the failure of his first, desperate plan, Babel had almost enabled him to succeed regardless, but he had not known the extent of his father's punishment. Lucifer snarled with exasperation, not at the memory, but at himself. Dwelling on past failures, even recent ones, would aid no one, least of all the people, and the future, dependent upon him. He walked for hours, allowing the sea breeze to mitigate some of the scorching heat, lower, towards the sands. Towards the site he had never seen, but knew to be there. The map of the nascent Earth spread before him in his mind's eye, tracing the fonts of power, the web of energy that traced the creation of the Earth and its peoples. They would lie dormant, until they were not, and they would be the doom, or hope, of all creation.

At last he reached the spot. Nothing gave it away, no monument, no mystical font of life. Perhaps even his fellow Elohim could not have detected it like he could, but unlike the others he had helped his father to shape this Earth, and to him, the thrum of power was almost inescapable. He knelt in the sand, closing his eyes, and spoke the words of power. The Ancient language of his kind had been old before the Earth was even a dream, from when he and his siblings had danced across the eternity of the cosmos. To speak it was a reminder of the years, of the crushing eons that weighed upon him.

His essence bled into the ground, the touch of the First Son invigorating the dirt beneath him. The Sand turned to glass, the unrestrained touch of his true form anathema to this mundane world of dirt and rock. In the sky, the Morningstar shone, just bright enough, if only for a moment, despite the height of day. With one final word, Lucifer stood. Beneath him, a plaque of glass, trapping a fragment of a star, of him, the heart of an Elohim. With another bark of words, this time of the Sorceror's tongue, the lyrical verse of Babel, he cast the glass lower, deeper into the rock, far below, watching as dirt and sand poured to hide the effort of his works. He nodded, briefly, before setting to return to his followers.

----

"My lord, you cannot mean to-"

"I am no one's lord, Terial, nor did I ever claim to be. Not here" It was a noble effort, to argue with him, he could sense the strain in the man's body, it almost killed him to simply not throw himself at Lucifer's feet, to give in to the innate desire of any human to simply abide by the call of heaven. Curse you Father.

"We would stand with you, you must know that." Yenaria's voice was quiet, almost dangerous, as if she was daring him to argue with their conviction. Of the three mortals that still followed him, that had not departed on their given tasks or succumbed to the events that had stricken them, she had the most fire left, the most personality not bled away by the constant presence of his divinity, and the trials it had brought them.

"I would never doubt such a thing, it is I, that cannot stand with you." Lucifer admitted sadly, with his hood pulled down, the vaguely Babalite features of his mortal guise gazed upon them openly. He could pass for human from a distance, but up close, he was simply too flawless, his skin marble like and unyielding. "To walk with me now is to invite death, and you have been too loyal in your friendship for me to bring that upon you." Their protests were loud and immediate, but he had not the time. He had exposed his power for only a brief moment, and those that would hunt him might soon be upon them. For once, he waived them off dismissively, the slight touch of his power enough to silence them.

"But the task that I set you is of far more note than simply being my ally and friend, although I have, and will always, treasure you all. It is time that I resume my exile, alone, but we have prepared the foundations for an effort that will span the ages, but, will ultimately save all your kind." He could not be sure, but it was his best hope, to avoid the future God had tried to hide from even the Elohim.

"You are free to live your lives, however you may choose, farm, conquer, hunt, remain aloof. Forget me, but do not forget your task. Down the ages, you and your descendants will live upon these lands, flourish, but remain. One day I shall have need of champions, and from the corners of the Earth, they shall arise, bolstered by generations of proximity to the fonts we have mapped and altered across the world.
From here I shall draw my heart, one day, the child of your descendants so far flung, will prove my greatest ally. I know that this is bitter thanks for your dedication to our cause, but it is all I may offer." He stepped closer as he spoke, watching their expressions as they grappled with the news he had forced upon them. They sobbed, for him to speak more than a few words was enough to break their resolve, even without the meaning behind them. As he finished, they embraced, all three, turned inwards, and away from him. It ached within him to see them so, who had been his closest companions, but Lucifer did not have the luxury of mortal bonds. Not now. Once he was sure they would manage no more protest, he began his journey alone.

Off, into the ages.



The Region of Yaa
Modern Day

The noise and din of the city crashed against Henry Loche as he walked the streets of Los Angeles. The one-time London gangster of some formal renown, for now hid in the very American garb of a Lakers hoodie, obscuring his features among the purple vestment. His right hand gently rubbed at the beard fostered upon his chin. A recent addition, following the fighting that had swept LA and his increasing role in the management of the city, he wasn't yet sure if he approved.

Snapping out of his personal review, his eyes turned to watch the shop across the street from him. It wasn't anything of note, a Seven-Eleven run by an old family of Eastern immigrants, they knew him well enough. He did not plan to go in today, to inquire after whichever daughter had just gone off to school in whichever state, although he would make a note to return on a social call soon. No, for now, he was tasked with the matter of preservation.

He saw them long before they telegraphed their intent. Being the owner of Sunset had enabled him to grow quickly accustom to the Brujah and their propensity to violence. That had probably been his first meeting with Yanci. The thought made him chuckle, even as he began to cross the street. Something hard and metallic slipped from his back pocket, concealed by the length of his sleeve.

Three males. Gang tattoos. No obvious religion iconography. Not Sabbat

The thought made him frown slightly. If these weren't Sabbat, the threat had spread beyond those most vulnerable to mania.

The shop had been one of the locations tied to conflicts prior to the recent civil war. Of the artifacts the Sabbat wanted. One had been seen for sale as a knick-knack in said shop. He calmed himself slightly, even if these particular Brujah were not Sabbat, that did not stop them wanting to claim the bounty put out by them.

"Evening Gentlemen." He strode right into their path. They were burly men, even before the strength and boon of unlife they had not been used to others challenging their direction of choice. Henry was not a small man, he stood imposingly enough, but each could rival him in size, and there were three of them. Bikers

"Oh look, it's Mary Poppins." One of them spoke up with a laugh, earning a smirk form the others. A flash of fangs from all three.

"Oh. British accent. Yes, terribly original." Henry replied. Their arrogance was making them sloppy. The fact only one of his hands rested infront of him could not have telegraphed any harder that his obscured hand held a weapon. He could have taken this more seriously, but it had become something of a game. Just how useless would he had to be for one of them to finally get the slip on him.

"Think you're in our way, Poppins." One of the others spoke up, frowning at Henry's return-snark, all three took several steps towards him. He could sense the vitae flowing in their veins, reinforcing their already supernatural abilities. They were gearing up for a fight. Good.

"Interestingly enough, that's exactly where I intended to be." Henry continued, allowing his shoulders to relax. While vitae flowed to their muscles, strengthening them, Henry's skin hardened, reinforced by a surge of his own abilities, not that they'd notice.

"And why would that be?"

"Well. Because I don't want to get hit by the truck."

"What t-"

Somewhat predictably, the speak was cut off. Predictably, because even for a kindred, it's quite hard to talk when being rammed by a multi-tonne vehicle going somewhere above the speed limit. The driver was one of Henry's best, enough that he trusted him to pull off the obvious show of force without more than the necessary collateral. The vehicle had hit all three, before careening onwards into the wall of a multi-story car park. The structure was sound enough to take the blow, as planned.

The turn had been ludicrous, speeding by, it had taken every iota of anticipation and simple gift-from-God ability for Max to have turned the moving vehicle off the road, and then perpendicular to the group of Brujah. It had, of course, killed some of the momentum, but that was why Henry had brought a knife.

One of the Brujah was little more than paste, whether it had caused Final Death or not, he would be out of the fight. One was still pinned beneath the vehicle, but a third had escaped, very much from simply being hit hard enough to bounce off the structure before the truck could pin him to it. To his credit, he was up and on Henry before a moment had passed, a vicious snarl and a ferocity that could almost be a break in the Masquerade, were the people of Los Angeles not entirely used to the actions of roid-rage gang bangers. His first swing caught Henry on the shoulder has he rolled it into his path, keeping him from a direct blow to his head. The force rippled through him, enough to register despite his supernatural pain threshold. With a grunt, he spoke;

"There's your one."

The Henry became a blur, his fingers grasped the Brujah's fist, the one that had just struck him, before with a sickening crunch, he inverted the hand's bones, his own suprior strength turning the Kindred's fist to mush. The Brujah didn't have time to react even to howl before the knife came up. Not a kill blow, not for a Kindred, punching into the reverse armpit of the combatant. Both arms paralyzed by pain responses, even for a vampire, the Kindred had no defence against the consecutive knee-blows driven up into his chest. When Henry allowed him to collapse to his knees, a simple backhand was enough to send him into the deepest torpor the 'young' kindred had ever felt the need to.

Of course by now there was screaming, people running from what was undoubtedly yet another scene of gang violence, albeit a somewhat dramatic one. It was a shady enough part of Los Angeles that it would take some time for the police to respond, even if Henry's associates were not currently redirecting calls.

Max groaned as he rolled himself out of the van. Thin and lanky, the wiry individual was a gangrel embraced at a somewhat awkward stage of adolescence. His limbs were slightly too long for the rest of him, but they held the supernatural power of his clan, and once he had recovered from the impact, a swift blow to the temple of the pinned-Brujah finished off the last potential source of resistance.

"Lets get these three to lock-up, might need a shovel for the first." Henry spoke as he dragged his now sleeping assailant over to the other three, looking down and the bloodied mess that was the three would-be-attackers. "It seems they still need a reminder we're not tolerating Sabbat bounties." Loche exhaled, even as Max began the work of extracting the injured from beneath the wrecked vehicle.

"Public execution?"

"No Max, I'm not a fucking Consul of Rome." Henry lent down to aid him, deadpanning as the Kindred turned to look at him incredulously.

"Well. Not for a long while."