On a dry, cold, quiet night in February a black luxury model car pulls up to the front of the Sundown Sacramento Hotel. The back door opens and out steps the prominent hotel's owner. Arnold Culler a giant of a man with huge shoulders who stands to his significant height and walks inside where a suited man with styled hair and a goatee greets him with a mixture of reverence and anxiety.

Arnold’s own clothes were stylish and expensive, a tailored pinstripe suit and matching fedora. Despite the fine clothing the vampire wore the mark of his Clan on his skin, as the curse of the Nosferatu and turned his once smooth, black skin into a rough mottled shade of gray – curling his nose and crinkling his earlobes and sinking his eyes deep into his face.

"How was Mexico, my lord?" Gary Williams, Arnold's ghoul and manager of his business, asks his master as they walked deeper into the hotel.

"Troublesome." comes Arnold's deep, gruff reply. "Necessary, however. My enterprise continues to flourish."

Even if it is to be at whatever cost I've paid for disappearing this last month. I'm sure Sacramento's Danse has moved along without me as it seems to do more and more in recent nights. Considering my luck recently I shall not be surprised if Victoria Stamford has been made the Prince and Dirge the Sheriff.

It was true, however. Leaving Sacramento for a short amount of time had been a necessity for his business interests in Mexico. These interests were not pertaining to the hotel business, but instead the trafficking of drugs through Mexico and into California - drugs that would eventually find their way to California’s capitol city. A situation had arisen out of the increasingly dangerous climate amongst the brutally violent Mexican drug gangs, one that Arnold had been forced to attend to personally in order to preserve that source of income and influence.

So early one night he left Sacramento heading south, knowing that in doing so he very much forfeited any glory earned from his efforts in the Bloodhunt and in the Bypass. The preservation of his assets was more important. After weeks of bloodshed and espionage he had returned to the city that he called home.

Together the ghoul and the large Nosferatu boarded the elevator. Inside the ghoul speaks softly, saying “You’ve received a letter from the First Estate. I left it in the usual place in your domain.” The ghoul looks down and notices the end of Arnold’s sleeve for the first time since the Nosferatu’s return. “Your hand, my lord. It’s…”

“Gone still, yes,” comes Arnold’s sharp reply “What blood I could garner was required spent elsewhere. Anyway, I obviously can still handle Kine thugs despite the handicap. Particularly the peasants that they call gangsters down in that hole of a country.”

They reach the penthouse floor, stepping out onto the landing and Gary adds “I’ve arranged for some refreshment. I think you’ll like what I’ve chosen for you.” He watches Arnold’s form, hoping to be forgiven for his calling attention to his master’s missing hand.

Arnold doesn’t reply when heard of the Invictus letter, wondering silently what could be the matter and if a meeting was to be called. He smiles when Gary mentions refreshment, however. The idea of a decent meal intrigued him. “Thank you, Gary. You serve me well and will be rewarded. You may go.”

Gary swelled with pride at the compliments delivered by his master as Arnold stepped toward the door of his Haven, swiping the keycard and letting himself in. Standing by the window was an attractive, skinny young woman. Brunette, of course, as Gary knew how Arnold hated blondes. She started when the tall, imposing figure entered the room rather than the suave goateed man who had charmed her up here.

“Who are you?” she stammered as Arnold shut the door behind him. Her eyes widened as he doffed his hat and placed it on the table.

“I am absolutely famished.” Arnold replies with a smile, looking the girl over as he approaches with predatory hunger in his eyes.

************************************

A little while later Arnold, now feeling refreshed, takes a look at the Invictus correspondence. A meeting was to be held, and soon. Amongst his other letters he finds a notice that an official Court is to be held within a few nights time. He frowns, looking down at the stump at the end of his wrist. He would not be seen at the First Estate gathering until he had healed his handicap, but it may be too late to fix his problem before Court.

At least its not as if I’ve never shown weakness in Court before. he thinks bitterly, recalling the robe and wig he had been made to wear and resigning himself to the fate of being seen by his peers without his hand. Stepping over to the window he looks out, taking in the view of the city even as Gary quietly entered the room and removed the brunette’s dazed form. As he regarded the city, one thing was for certain - one way or the other it was good to be back.