Midnight's Black Mass

[Josephine Sterling]

The Moore house stands silent, somber, and looms as a gravestone against the darkened backdrop of the surrounding Kine landscape. Fitting, given that the building's original purpose was as a Funeral Home, and the disquiet such a history and association drizzles onto the nearby human masses is perfectly fitting for the purposes of the walking dead that occupy the building now. Or, rather, that soon will.

The door to the Moore House stands ajar, spilling yellow light into the well of darkness outside the walls of the building, and silently the building sits, waiting for the Kindred of Sacramento to enter it. Within, they find a sign directing them through the foyer and into the Chapel, where a very interesting sight greets them. Behind a pulpit, Josephine Sterling stands, her form clad in black and crimson robes with a silver spear dangling upon a silver chain around her neck. Beside her is a large St. Andrews Cross, and chained upon it is the nude form of what might be a college boy, his mouth gagged, his eyes blindfolded, and his ears blocked by noise canceling headphones. Small, animal noises sound in the boy's throat, his nostrils flaring in panic, and yet his limbs remain motionless.

It is this boy, this David Hopson, that shall serve as the Sacrament for this nights mass. Alas, for there to be a mass, there must first be a mass of bodies. Thus, before the pulpit resides 10 iron stands with a thin black volume resting upon each one. They rest at about chest height, and there are no chairs or pews. It seems that Josephine intends for those who attend to stand.

   4 successes to secure the Sacrament

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2015-05-01 04:06:03		Josephine rolls 8 to secure the sacrament (int3+exp2+dom3) (10 Again)		4, 2, 6, 10, 8, 10, 2, 7, 4, 9		4 successes

[Konrad Roth]

He'd never been to the Moore House, but from the outside it doesn't look like he'd been missing much. The broken facade made no attempt to hide its age and disrepair. But a dilapidated Church provides more convenience for a Kindred parish, Konrad imagines. The Savage comes dressed in his Sunday best, a short sleeved button-up shirt and tie with dress pants and polished shoes. He comes with an internal question on Faith, a handful of curiosities, and an advertisement that there is room for such religion within the Movement.

Konrad passes the yellow-lit threshold and follows the signs, hands in his pockets as makes his way into the Chapel. He sees Josephine and his Beast stands alert, gnawing on Konrad's will in hopes that this time he would tear that air of confidence away from that holier-than-thou bitch along with her guts to decorate the hallway. His outward demeanor betrays little and he remains calm and relaxed as he walks over to one of the iron stands.

Damn, we've got to stand? What a pain, he laments internally, revisiting the idea of turning Josephine into a chair out of her bones.

He nods respectfully to the Priest with a small smirk. He's not sure about Mass etiquette but for now he remains silent.

[Gerald Baker]

Timing is always a factor in making an appearance. It hasn't always worked in Gerald's favor, but it has always been there. Another nagging reminder that no matter what you do, someone will have an opinion about it. Needless to say, he'd given the time of his arrival some thought. He couldn't arrive late, fashionably or otherwise. It's a sermon. He also doesn't want to arrive before the other Kneelers and show them up. The only option that seems to work is to wait down the street for others to start arriving and then make his way shortly after.

His actual arrival is quiet, clothing aside, is muted and respectful. This is a diplomatic mission, after all. One covenant spokesperson to another. He wishes he could be more excited about it. As it stands, it is going to be a long, dull, morbid evening of listening to the words of Longinus. And somehow, he doubts Josephine will be presenting it in French.

To his surprise, the other two Carthians have arrived before any of the Second Estate - not including the Ventrue Priscus. He offers Josephine a polite bow of his head and moves into ranks near his covenant mates. The delightful Vivian is there, as well. Dressed in considerably modest apparel. He gives her a small smile - his only venture into banter he's allowed himself. His eyes fix, briefly, on the unfortunate young college boy chained to a cross. He shrugs. Do we get to eat him when this is done?

[Kenneth Gilroy]

Gilroy unfortunately arrives later than he'd have liked. He had fully intended to get there 30 minutes ahead of time to help set up. Work had thought differently though and he wasn't able to get away any earlier. He had done a quick change into the same outift he had worn to the official court, with a new unstained shirt.

He had to fight not to turn straight around when he entered the house. Beast prowled around the pews. Well, not pews so much as book stands. [i]Why had she gone with that choice?[\i] He briefly thought.

David Hopson was strapped firmly in place. As Josephine had promised, she had needed no help there.

He cautiously made his way to the front, wariness of the monsters surrounding him, kept him glancing around continously, while his curse made him cringe and flinch.

[Asa]

Like a large black shadow, Asa quietly entered.

It had been years since the Domain had seen a Black Mass. Years since Anton had gone Draughr, Sidor's disappearance, and then finally Dillon Connery's. It some ways, it was comforting to know that the devout were as fleeting as any other Covenant.

And of course, Heathcliff Staley.

A well-suited arm reached out, hand touching the stone that the former Seneschal and Pony's Bane had claimed for the Lancea et Sanctum. Since The Fall, the Estates had slowly moved apart. It was most likely a by-product of the focus of immortality... what the Secret would call Stagnation. And it was evident even now, as eyes swept over the assembled and noted that no other First had chosen to support the Second.

Hatred sparked, caught, and ignited into white hot rage at the sight of the other Kindred. Carthians, en masse. The Beast twisted within, latching on to the Man's thoughts and demanding Blood.

A gift. A sacrifice. From the First to the Second.

Skin over knuckles whitened slightly as the hand pressed against stone, fighting down the bloodlust. A moment, nothing more, and he moved inside, nodding to his Priscus and the Lancea Sanctum's titular leader.

...Did she steal one of my crosses from Asylum?

[West]

Gerald Baker , roll for Frenzy. Predator's Taint: role-play it or roll it.

Target Number is 3 Successes.
Resolve + Composure + 1 (expecting other Kindred) -1 (stronger predators) -1 Hungry

[Gerald Baker]

  3sux

Date		Action		Roll		Result
2015-05-03 00:38:40		Gerald Baker rolls 3 to Resolve + Composure + 1 (expecting other Kindred) -1 (stronger predators) -1 Hungry (10 Again)		10, 4, 8, 9		3 successes

Gerald had been able to keep his Beast a pent up and distant distraction around the assembled Kindred. This is an important event, after all. Two new arrivals, however, herald a change in sentiment for the ancilla; this is no longer just a night for showing face. The first, that grovelling little maggot Kenneth Gilroy. A man Gerald had had the displease of encountering once before. Gerald and his Beast see eye to eye on the preferred methods of dealing with the man. Yes. He'd look better as a smear on the carpet. How easy it would be to give in... but he doesn't. He spares the man an almost menacing look before the more stately arrival: Asa Clarke.

Gerald's guard had been down. He nearly recoils at the sight, his Beast locking eyes with a stronger predator who could mean his destruction. The Prince and leader of the Invictus, no less. He eyes the nearest open door in temporary panic, the fight-or-flight instinct rearing it's ugly head. The cool confidence he showed only moments earlier is replaced with a feeling much like poor Gilroy must feel: in here there is death. Gerald "Twice-Dead" Baker gives a subdued nod of his head to the Prince, desperately hoping to conceal the terror that had nearly seized him.

[Hildegarde Bingen]

Silence had fallen over the Chapter House of late. A silence like that of a tomb; too much like the absence in which she had lived under the Count's roof. Then, of course, she had been at the beck and call of her Sire and could only roam the shattered halls as listless as a shadow when he permitted it. She had the full run of the Chapter House as its Castellan, but it was not a fit place to explore - lacking the size and depth and weight of history. She had been forced to turn to the inward journey as she attempted to bring order to the archive of her lineage.

The old portraits called to her again and again. Especially that of her Grandsire - Isabella of Zaragoza, the Spanish Lady of her dreams. The Sanctified Witch who had found fulfilment in the presence of the Dracul...

Curiosity draws Hildegarde Bingen to the chapel. Heeled shoes ringing loudly as she walks with slow deliberation through the building. She is wrapped in a long coat, a wide brimmed hat with a hint of veiling, cast at an angle over her face. She could have been stepping out from a silver age movie. Hands are thrust deep in pockets. At the threshold, she hovers with her eyes closed - she does now enjoy these moments when the caged thing within her squirms and writhes in an ecstasy of agony, such is the desire to reach out and crush the weaker things, to stretch out and fill the aching void of the room.

Her eyes open. Gilroy... the cringing worm is in her sights. The desire on her face is tempered by the quiet non-presence of the Prince. Splash of suspicion, fear on her face. Vivian, too. And... Carthians?

A smile grows on her face as the Lord approaches. How must it feel for her Priscus to be before a flock that includes so few of her own Covenant? What is this, a demonstration or the real thing?

"May I join you?"