Ezekiel

The Scholomance: A Magic School RP

Been a while since I tried something new.
Interested!

Our Final Nights: A World of Darkness Roleplay

“Call them.”

The tone was easy, but forceful, a command in all but tone. It didn’t have to be, the concept of refusal had been left behind long ago, years before Lubbock had pulled the damaged rat out of his hole in Seattle, a will broken by years of torment, only to find new suffering in freedom.

The labyrinthian streets of Los Angeles stretched out below them, a teeming hive of humanity lit by a billion motes of light, drenching the forested hills in darkness by contrast. Two figures inhabited the clearing, Lubbock stood, pacing around the area, while the other knelt. Surrounding the latter figure, runic symbols which hurt to look at, drawn in blood over the grass, stretched out. At seemingly random points, candles burned, faintly, in the night air. Human fat did not burn terribly well, but, it always paid to follow the recipe with these sorts of things.

“Call them.” The words were more insistent this time, betraying the impatience of a born killer, beneath the veneer of sophistication the toreador expressed. The kneeling figure made no noise. It had been some nights since Lubbock had removed their tongue, mostly in a fit of boredom. They’d lost their eyes long ago, plucked out for the crime of sharing the secrets of Clan Tremere, then cast into the bowls of the Seattle Madhouse. They were the true reason Lubbock had deigned to unseat the ruling parties of the Ivory Tower to the North. A city burned so that he might have one piece to his puzzle. The figure did not refuse, their lips moving to silently express the syllables of a spell, the drying blood stirring around them as the first spell was cast.

“Good.” It was a simple word, but it brought elation from the kneeling figure, a happy smile breaching the grimace of their ruined features. For the first time, Lubbock exuded approval, and to the being utterly caught in the power of his presence, it tasted finer than any taste of blood could have. The toreador approached the kneeling figure, slinking behind them, not breaking any of the symbols. He embraced the Tremere from behind, wrapping long, slender arms around them.

“Is your first wish still the same?” He asked her, the mute female kindred nodding slowly, but insistently, leaning back into the embrace. She rasped something that was almost a yes.

“Then I will burn them all for you. Rest well.” Lubbock spoke to her in a tone that was almost kind, before one finger pressed onto her chest. As easily as tearing paper, her ribcage gave in, Lubbock plucking her heart from her as simply as removing an apple from a crate. The Tremere gasped in final relief, before crumbling into ash. Lubbock was alone for only a few moments, before the pervasive dark of the night was interrupted by four stark motes of red. Stepping forth from these brief sparks, the Tremere of Los Angeles. Well, four of them.

There was a moment of confusion as they regarded the stooped figure of Lubbock, resting, as he appeared to be, at the centre of a large piece of Tremere spellwork. As he made to stand, he allowed some of his aura to bleed through into what would be visible to the trained eyes of more experience kindred. A tiny shred of his vast identity.
“You are not the traitor.” One finally spoke, the tallest. They were all clad in the red and black robes of their particular strain of Tremere, the surprisingly conservative chantry that Strauss lead on the Sunset Coast. Lubbock was disappointed he had not come himself, but then, perhaps he had some inkling of what had awaited his subordinates.

“Not the one you are looking for, no. You are a moment too late for that.” Lubbock rolled his shoulders as he spoke. In the low light, it finally became obvious that the finely dressed figure was covered in the ash of final death.

“You are interfering in Chantry business.” One of the others spoke, a female voice from within the obscuring hood and folds of her robes. Lubbock didn’t turn his attention as he spoke, his eyes dancing between all four Tremere, seemingly randomly.

“That is an unusual way of thanking me for doing your work for you.” He replied, seemingly adjusting his suit, heedless of the coat of ash preventing him from appearing as sophisticated as he had begun the night. The Tremere had begun to spread out, circling the spiraling patterns, their attention divided between watching the Toreador at the centre, and seeking to decipher the purposes of the spell. Naturally, they did not believe this could be spellwork of his design, instead of something their traitor had attempted, and been interrupted.

“Our arts are none of your concern, Toreador, her life was not yours to take.” The tall one spoke again, a long pale limb drawing forth from his robe, the taloned hand raising with a palm up. Already Lubbock could feel the draw of the Tremere’s blood magic. The air crackled with power and he inhaled steadily, through lungs that no longer needed to breathe. The moment the first syllables left their lips, he was in motion. The power of his own, stolen, blood thrummed and the world came to a halt. The air crackled with the force and speed of his form, the sleek, ash-covered Toreador moving beyond even the supernatural senses of his fellow Kindred. Before the first spell could be completed, one taloned hand had rent through the first kindred sorcerer, their precious vitae tumbling into the air, the power in their form sagging.

It was a dance of death, and few had practiced the steps for as long, with such enthusiasm, as Lubbock. He weaved through the crackling power of their air, the might of Thaumatergy sizzling the spaces he had occupied moments before. He was a being of power beyond these modern nights, but even he was weary of the touch of their magic, but they would never halt him. In the time it would take a mortal to even focus on the scene, the fight was over, the Tremere humbled, but not slain, kept on the brink of their unnatural lives.

“The Camarilla have taught you that you are the predators of the night, that human are sheep to be preyed upon, to be corralled and hunted.” Lubbock spoke as he returned to the centre of the runes, as the leaking blood of the Tremere flowed into the patterns already marked into the ground. His own fangs were slicked with their blood, granting him a temporary taste of the secrets they fought hard to keep. “That is a lie. You are the flock, the kine are grass. Bait to keep you in your little herds. Now comes the age of the true hunters.” His pace brought him to the centre, and he turned West, out towards the horizon, the great ocean that cast back the Light of Los Angeles and the Heavens above. As fluid as the water, his tongue switched from the bastardised modern tongue of the kine, to the old language. The intonations of Caine that his mother had taught him, before the Deluge had swept it all away.

“Arise, Ravnos, Arikel calls you, Rise, The Night Calls you once more.” As Lubbock spoke, he felt the pressure of his Sire’s mind within him even greater than before, felt the weight of eons, the voices of all the Kindred who he had consumed, or perhaps consumed him, rise to a crescendo in his mind. Then they were drowned in singular, unflinching, rage. The runes around him grew bright in the darkness, before Lubbock, and everything around him, was consumed in flame.

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

Henry’s eyes snapped from his view of the city, leaning as he was at the edge of the Sunset’s pool-balcony, his mind on the young kindred whom he had agreed to shelter, as a bright light scorched through the night behind him. He had missed the initial flash, but he knew with one heart beat that it had not been natural. He who had taught the first men the might of magic would know it anywhere, even bastardised by the Kindred and their ways.

The light that he saw, however, was far more mundane. The orange light of a new dawn poured down the Hollywood hills. A moment later and the surge of heated air and ash struck him, the wave passing over him. The clothing on his form singed, and only his supernatural physiology kept his skin from doing the same, kept the rush of air from blasting him from the ledge. Some of his guests weren’t so lucky, sent sprawling down the hillside below, or falling in pain as their skin blistered. This was on the prelude, the heatwave of a detonation, as he watched the hills of Hollywood come alive in flame, he knew the forest fire was not far behind, rushing down towards the city proper.

His phone was already ringing, and he was on the way to answer when enough sensation rocked him. Not a physical one, a pang in his soul, a wrenching dread as one of the many scattered pieces of his essence called out to him.

It was the beginning of the end.

One Universe: World Of Heroes - A Marvel & DC Comics RPG

Any restrictions for anyone wanting to play Power Girl? Back in the days of Ultimate Comic RP I had a version of the character I wouldnt mind returning to.

Our Final Nights: A World of Darkness Roleplay

Rp is still chugging away and open!

Our Final Nights: A World of Darkness Roleplay

I have reopened the Discord Server!

New Link: https://discord.gg/fkGBmZ9

Our Final Nights: A World of Darkness Roleplay

Collab with @Hellion

Los Angels
The Hollywood Hills
The Sunset Lounge

“Look out for her, she’s young, not tested in our world.”

“I’m not running a creche, love.”

“Do you mean that, or is it just another British thing?”

“Take a guess, I’ve a bar to run, something you occasionally let me get back to.”

“Thank you, Henry, try not to think about me too much.”

In truth, he never truly needed convincing to aid the lost and the damned of LA. That would have been the height of irony. No one was as lost or damned as the Archtraitor. The thought brought a slight smile to his lips as he went about the business of working the bar, the brief snippet of conversation with Eva playing back over his mind as he did his best to pay attention to whatever slice of Kindred politics the couple across from him were providing with their incessant need to gossip, to impress. He couldn’t quite pinpoint when exactly he became someone worth impressing in the supernatural underworld of LA, but it hadn’t been overnight.

That’s when she slipped into the next seat over. The woman that looked out of place, yet finally home, all at the same time. The scars that marked her out most of all. They all carried scars, one way or another, these aristocrats of the night.

“Hypocrite” he thought to himself in a voice that sounded distinctly like a certain Toreador, as he passed his way down the bar, cleaning a glass as he did so. It was an awfully typical view of what a bartender ‘should’ be doing, but then, that was half the point.

“Drink?” He asked plainly, his mouth forming the words in such a way that played on the years he had spent in a similar, but different life in the dive bars of another continent. Somewhere else he had become someone worth impressing quite by accident. He watched her for a moment, gauging the reaction of all new kindred to the words. “A drink that won’t have you hurling it right back up on the bar.” He clarified. He was pouring before she really answered. A scotch he had grown to enjoy from back home, laced with enough plasma that a kindred could keep it down without effort. If they were lucky, they might even taste it, beyond the buzz of alcohol which when mixed properly, their kind could still feel. He placed it down, uncaring of whether she took it up or not.

“Henry Locke, I’m told we’re friends now.”

Nicole eyed the drink with curiosity if anything else. While she and Eva had shared various blood-infused wines during their time together at the oceanside villa, that had been about the extent of it, so a concoction based with Scotch would certainly be a new experience. The woman held the glass up to the light, and then looked back at the gentleman across from her.

“You know what? I don’t even like Scotch, but I’ve had a crazy enough few weeks, that I don’t even give a fuck right now.” Nicole motioned her hand toward the other as though she were going to toast, before knocking back the glass and draining its contents in one fell swoop.

“Holy shit monkeys” She choked on the words, as the mixed drink made its way down her throat like a fiery dragon descending into a tunnel. “That’s-” She coughed a couple of times to clear her voice before continuing. “Yeah, that’s just what I needed.” She chuckled, returning the now empty glass to the bar top, and rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“Whew, okay.” She smiled at the rugged man with the hauntingly beautiful eyes. “Good to meet you, by the way.” She then nodded her head. “I’m Nicole. ‘Nikki’, if you prefer. And yeah, I suppose we are friends now.” The Gangrel couldn’t help but feel rather stupid and awkward in the other’s presence, but she also assumed it was the effects of the drink moreso than anxiety welling up just for being there.

Or perhaps it was both.

“I-um, I think I was supposed to meet a woman by the name of ‘Rachel’ here. Do you happen to know where I’d find her?”

“You’re looking for perhaps the one woman more busy in this city than our other mutual acquaintance.” Henry spoke plainly, although he didn’t hide the slight smile of amusement at her reaction to the drink, a somewhat teasing expression utterly lacking in any true malice. “But I presume if you’ve been sent after her, she’ll also be making time for you, I’ll give her a buzz, let her know you’re here.”

Henry wasn’t the only person paying attention to Nicole, however, the couple the man had been speaking with before carrying on their own conversation with far less zeal, carefully watching the pair as they spoke, the tang of fresh blood in the air. There was more than just the usual Kindred nature in this, with the news steadily rolling in from the North, newcomers were both a greater threat and curiosity than ever before.

“We have a fair few rooms here, I only have hillside free at the moment, but you’re welcome to it. Rest, freshen up, whatever. No rush to clear out while you get your bearings.” There was no need to add that this life required you to find those bearings imminently. Anyone who made it passed the first few nights knew that, if nothing else. As he spoke, he removed a sleek looking phone from his pocket, thumbing the screen without turning his attention from those across the bar, passing on the previously mentioned message to Rachel.

“You don’t necessarily look like the type who used to enjoy the company of big city lawyers too much, so, fair warning on that front.” Henry continued with the same hint of amusement, although his eyes were studying the room behind Nicole, noting whoever was trying to listen in without appearing like they were.
“Between you and me, don’t mention to anyone that you’ve come in from out of town.” He spoke a little quieter, his lips barely moving as he did so. “That might get you in even more heat from the old bastards you’re going to be bumping into around these parts.”

Without trying to seem too relieved by the prospects of staying at the hotel, per Henry Locke’s invitation, the offer did ease her mind nevertheless. A mind that still had so many thoughts swirling around that needed an answer, and yet the mental weariness of just the last few days alone began to creep up on her like a looming shadow. But, she allowed a half-smile, and nodded as her host spoke, knowing that she would need to lay low for a bit longer, replace things she no longer had, and just generally figure out who she was and what role she was supposed to play within her new life.

“I appreciate the offer.” She said, glancing around the lounge area, before meeting the man’s eyes once again. “And God knows I could use a proper shower.” She snorted, thinking back to a couple of days prior, finding a campground somewhere up in Northern California where she was able to slip in and clean up before continuing the journey. “And a change of clothes.” Nikki shook her head and smirked at the silly comments, which were apparently brought up by the recent ingestion of a fairly potent drink. “Although it’s not like I have to wash my hair.” She ran a hand across her bare scalp, feeling only the stubble from taking electric trimmers to it, and yet missing the beautiful hair she once had.

“Anyway…” She sighed.

Henry’s comment, however, regarding her being “out of town” did pique some curiosity in the back of her mind, and yet she didn’t even bother to ask about it, and only nodded in acknowledgement as though she understood the meaning behind the “advice”. Perhaps such a statement came as a typical warning to those vampires who were relatively new to the unlife, because someone as green about her existence as Nicole was, even she knew there were always bigger fish in the sea and the neonate was simply a worm dangling at the end of a hook.

“If it’s okay, I think I might stick around here for a bit.” She broke eye contact with the other momentarily, instead staring at the empty glass on the bartop. “I don’t really know what to do next other than wait at this point.”

Nicole didn’t want to have to admit -especially to a stranger- that she was lost, but she was. Despite Eva’s help, it was tough returning to a city you came to know well over the course of many years as a police officer, only to have no real direction in a life you just couldn’t fully comprehend.

“I still have so many questions.” She continued, looking back up at Henry, who certainly played his part as a proper host to listen as long as he could. “But, maybe this isn’t the time to ask, and you have better things to do no doubt. I can wait for Rachel.”

“Take your time here, I’m in no rush to keep rooms empty.” Henry set another glass back down on the bar, admiring the shine in the light for the moment before placing it onto a row of similar, if not all identical, receptacles. “Other needs, beyond a place to stay and a hot shower, can be attended to here as well. Usually there’s a charge, unless I decide otherwise, which I do.” He explained further. Kindred might not need solid food, but they certainly needed sustenance. Henry might not have had a warehouse of thinbloods chained up in the basement, but he had the next best thing; Los Angeles.

“You can ask away, I’ve got nowhere to be, love.” He answered her, slipping more heavily into the accent that spun from his lips, a brief smile feathered across his lips. “They can’t exactly fire me, I can show you the rooms now, if you’d like?” He offered, absentmindedly selecting another glass to shine while he waited, a good enough ruse to subtly keep his eyes on the couple at the end of the bar, trying to pin down their nebulous allegiance in the cold dark.

Her eyes lazily followed the path of the glass as Henry replaced it with the others, folding her hands atop the bar and periodically glancing around the room before meeting with the eyes of the man across from her once again. She didn’t quite know where to start in her line of questioning. Nicole was, afterall, a police officer, and was trained to ask questions about a great many things in order to get to the bottom of an issue. But, did any of that even matter anymore? Was she even a cop? The training was there and the memories retained, sure. But the urge to get back to her previous life was just out of reach. As though she had any real choice.

“How do I find-” The woman paused for a moment, unsure of even how to phrase the question. “I need to know where I came from. What I mean to say is, like...how do I find the one who made me? You know, my Sire.”

She couldn’t help but notice that her voice lowered to almost a whisper on the last few words as though it was some big secret within the confines of the Sunset. This had been a place full of vampires, at least presumably, but at the same time, she didn’t know any of them and they didn’t know her. Eva warned her that Kindred politics was a dirty business, sometimes even more so than that of the mortal realm, and trust was something not easily obtained. Sold and destroyed at a whim if anything else. But there was at least something she felt for Henry Locke, a trustworthiness that perhaps was born out of having no other recourse…?

“If you want my advice, Kindred are always far too hung up on who their sires are. Our mutual friend and her sire? They’re no different. They’d have all lived happier, longer lives if they’d all just decided to let old bonds die.” As Henry spoke, the volume of the Lounge’s ambient music seemed to rise, ever so slightly, just enough to gradually obscure his words from those further than his immediate area. He studied her again, yet another desperate child clinging for something, anything, to steady themselves before being pulled under. This world did not deserve them.

“The kind of Kindred you’re looking for, best to start at the Last Round, a bar Downtown. Gangrel, what you are, and Brujah of a certain...lack of sensibility, flock to the place.” Henry spoke with a theatrical sense of hesitation, as if speaking the name of the place pained him. “I apologise for sending you there, the smell is really something, but the owner, Nines, he’s not so bad, when he’s behaving. If anyone can find a Gangrel in this city, it’s probably him, or someone in his ‘bar” Henry almost seemed to shiver at the final word, as if it were forced out of him. As he finished speaking, however, he rested a somewhat small, if ornate, looking key on the bar top.

“Room number is on the back. Chipped as well, but don’t tell the rest of the clientele that, they like it old school.”

“Sensibility” She echoed, with a wry smile growing. “That’s a tough thing to find, especially in this city.” Her voice raised just a bit over the music, wondering if it was her hearing that wavered or the volume. It seemed that everything was so much more sensitive since her embrace, and she still found herself trying to manage every sense at once. “But thank you Henry, I think you gave me just what I needed. At least a start anyway.”

Nicole slipped the key in the inner pocket of her leather jacket and hopped off the bar stool. “I think I might just freshen up before I get dirty again.” She winked at the other, as she walked off toward the direction of the elevators.

Avatar - The Fall of Si Wong City

The latter but purely because I already have too many discord servers.
I completely understand if that is not a compelling argument.

Avatar - The Fall of Si Wong City

While I generally don't like prequels by nature, this sounds like fun.
Pew pew bending.

Our Final Nights: A World of Darkness Roleplay

Seattle
Washington State Psychiatric Hospital

Drip

Drip

Drip

There was something beyond grime which made the hallway an unpleasant experience. It hung in the air like the stench of damp decay which shared the same space, a true foulness that could never be cleansed. The pain had been too great and for too long. There were few things which could surprise the long-discarded humanity of his soul, but every now and then the cold pragmatism of these modern nights stirred something in him that was almost revulsion. Cruelty was an art, there was no art here, simply the grinding cogs of the machine slick with the blood of the damned.

Considering how important this site had become for the Camarilla of the City, the fullness was notable. This was not a place for comfort, even for visitors, no matter how great or grand they may be. Seattle had remained a shining beacon of the Ivory Tower in a sea of Anarch revolution and Sabbat Crusades. It was a beacon built on the bones of those who would bring the Tower down, and here he stood among them, the skeletons of the past. He could sense them shying away from him, their conditions would not allow them to run. They could not even see him for now, not until he wished it, but they knew he was there, knew there was a monster among them quite unlike the host of monsters who had chained them.

"Do not fear, I am not here to feast." His voice did not sound loud, but it carried down the hallways, to each and every cell. To each and every guard who finally became aware that the one place most important to their masters was no longer quite as sacrosanct as they had promised. There would be no blaring of alarms, no panic of kine activity. This was the heart of Camarilla rule and the knives would be drawing close. They would be too late, they were too late the moment he set foot on this forsaken, savage continent.

"I am here to give you what you have believed to be impossible, to remind you of what you are." His voice was building, the power of blood behind it as it touched each and every twisted soul within the confines of the hospital. Every captive, every guard. Any guest as well, should any have chosen an unfortunate evening to sake their first, he had not bothered to monitor the movements of the City's grandest this night. Their presence was irrelevant to his success. They were irrelevant by nature of his being.

"I am here to set you free, Blood of Caine, Hunt, Kill, Fuck, Do what it is you were born to do. Give praise and seek absolution." A thunderous clank followed the honeyed words, the clank of a thousand locks breaking, a thousand spells shattering. In the vacuum of noise that followed only the dripping of tainted water remained.

"Caine wakes. Remind them of their folly." The final words of his command rang out, and once again silence was King. It lasted a few moments, before it was broken by panicked shouting. The meat was free. Then the howling began, howls of unrestrained rage, howls of hunger, of desperation. The howl became a scream of bloody murder, and then the tide broke.

The Toreador and Malkavians of the Seattle Camarilla had long used the state hospital as a prison for the political failures of Seattle. Anarchs, Sabbat, the followers of failed Camarilla coups, they had all ended up here. This was the Elders of Seattle's solution to these Final Nights. A hospital had become a prison, had become a blood bank. But now the Cattle were free, two centuries of entrapped anger and violence released all at once. No matter how you broke a Kindred, you could never break the Beast, and the Beast knew only hunger, only vengeance. There should have been nothing which unified the Freed. Before their imprisonment, whether they were from the founding of Seattle or imprisoned short months ago, they came from different clans, different sects. They had been tortured and turned into drips to be fed from, until no personality remained. Hidden among each and every mind, however, was the spark of the being which had freed them, reminding them of who the true enemy was. Not each other, but the guards, the guests, and then those who had shut them away for so long. Tonight they would all die, they would pursue them until the Dawn broke and seared them away to ash.

He had waited for too long for this night. The Masquerade could not be broken so openly, even for one such as him. The seeds had to be sown in the Kine world as well, driving the schisms in their petty little societies to breaking point. Protests had become Riots, had become a furnace of violence. His tide of maddened Kindred would just be another drop in a city wide torrent of hatred. Tonight Seattle would burn, and the Ivory Tower would fall.

Lubbock would rule over ash and ruin.

Our Final Nights: A World of Darkness Roleplay

Another lil bump that we're still accepting!
IC kicked off last week.