Three nights after a mysterious event, the streets are still largely empty of Kindred. A group of outsiders has come in intent on establishing rule, but so far has done little. Meanwhile, other vampires have started entering the city, seeing easy feeding and a chance to establish themselves, or to start over in a new location.

By all appearances, Sacramento had been entirely purged of vampires.

But appearances can be deceiving.

On the third night, several of the vampires that had been rendered insensate with the pain of some unseen, unpredicted, undetectable attack start to recover, and to awaken from the fevered dreams of a brief, unusual torpor. Some awaken in their havens; others awaken after having fallen in battle beneath the sewers. They feel weakened and somewhat addled. But for those few survivors - no more than 10% of Sacramento's former kindred population - the Requiem is not yet over.



Requiem ST Note: Those who will be playing a PC estblished prior to the recent Reboot (generally for at least a month prior, though exceptions may be made on a case-by-case basis, particularly for starting-level characters) , let me know which single PC you will be continuing. Send me a copy of the character sheet by PM and also include the results of a Resolve + Composure roll for the character. Only one player character established prior to the Reboot can continue in play.

The survivors will start play at 1/4 (round down) of their full Vitae total. Upon awakening, they will be effectiely at -1 on all Physical Attributes (minimum 1) and function as if at one less than their usual Blood Potency (minimum 1). They will also currently not have the benefit of the Striking Looks Merit, as they are not at their best and really look pretty bad at the moment. All these changes will be temporary, and the reduced attributes will return over the course of the next few days, pending adequate feeding on the part of the characters.

After I okay characters for reentry to the campaign, have your characters post their thoughts and reactions to what happened here, in this thread.


Priscus O-Yama awakens, not really knowing what had happened. He begins feel the hunger of the Oni almost immediately. He sets about looking around the city, wondering if any of the other Kindred might be able to explain what just happened. As he strolls around, he notices that not once does he feel his Oni rise in response to any other Beasts in the city.

Daiben....

He shoots of quick texts to the Prince, and any others he knows, hoping there are atleast some survivors amongst the Family.




Heathcliff had slept feverishly, alternately tossing, whimpering, screaming over the past three nights. Good thing he had soundproofed the apartment a while back.

He awoke in a panic that quickly transformed into a gut-wrenching hunger that seems to permeate every cell in his body. He arises and puts his clothes on, dazed, nearly falling over in his rush to get his pants on.

He sees the stack of undone paperwork, realizes that his job would be sending someone by to pick it up, and his hunger nearly doubles him over.

But that won't be until the day time. I need to eat NOW! his Beast rages.

He picks up his cell phone and put his Angels cap on and locks the door behind him. He takes the stairs out of the building, knowing what he'll do if he's stuck in an elevator with a human.


Asa woke, slowly and painfully.

Visions and dreams clouded his mind, after-images and echoes toyed with his senses. Unpleasant dreams. Dreams of the Beast, not the Man. Things that might have been, things that the predator would have done.

Jaws crushing Olivette's neck for the temerity of Feeding from him...

Sweaty bodies subjugated to his will in Twist's office...

Feasting on Freddrick's Blood for touching Ishani...

Ishani.

Asa rolled over, muscles protesting in agony. There she lay, still and motionless. Gasping in relief, he reached out, still-blurred vision taking in her pallor and rictus-tight skin.

What happened to us?

He spent the next few minutes feverishly trying to rouse her, then realized what had happened as senses slowly returned.

Torpor

Asa stumbled out of bed, to the cooler where they kept her emergency supply, damn her Bloodline. The dead blood had no effect, and Asa lay over his beloved, smearing the cold blood on her face as he kissed her, wondering what to do.


Erika stumbled into her apartment, her eyes shut tight, but her ears doing the walking for her. She knew the place intimately, but this...she could barely stand, let alone make her way through the place now.

My eyes...something's gone horribly wrong.. Erika pushed the thought away, pulling herself into the bathroom, and shaking her head, refusing to open her eyes for the moment.

The dream had been almost as bad as the visions..lost in the sea of blood; the pull was almost too strong. When she'd finally gathered the courage, she expended her will and opened her eyes.

A scream was heard throughout the apartment building.


Pain, agony, The sounds of men dying around him and and the familair sights and sounds of the battlefield. That was all Jack remembered as his eyes tore open. Both pains of agony and hunger quaked through his body as he slowly lifted his body off the bed.

W-what the flying fuck happened

There was no answer to this question. He was familiar with Torpor, he was something he endured once in awhile as some form of punishment. But it was different. Much different from the other times.

Why am I so hungery? I need to feed...How?

Jacks blurred vision fell on a phone convenitently placed next to his bed. Through the blood-starved haze, a idea emereged. Slowly, he picked up the phone and dialed roomservice.

"Hello? This is Mr. Bennett. I'd like to order some dinner to my room. He was surprised how horse his voice sounded, but he would deal with that later. He talked to them for a few minutes, gave them a order and hung up. And with that, Jack staggared to the door leading to his hotel room and waitied.


Consumed. She was being consumed. The pain roared through her like a wildfire. Her muscles tensed, trying to fight, to block the pain. But it was in vain. Her physical body no longer worked like a mortals- it was vitae that gave her life and that would be her key to overcoming the pain. But it was the vitae that was causing the pain. How do you fight pain with the very thing that was causing it.

Locked in torpor Twist writhed in silent pain. Eventually though the pain of her own life force trying to tear her apart faded and she was able to crawl her way out of torpor.

Blinking eyes open to the dark of her room she fought against a new rush- this one of her beast. Sensing her addled state it roared to life within her and charged through her demanding blood and release. Remaining where she laid Twist turned her mind to this new battle. Seconds, ages, minutes, an instant later she took a rattling breath into the stillness of her room. Belatedly she realized there was a weight on her chest, one that trailed off to a weight at her side. Pushing the weight off her and sitting she realized it was Kalos. He was out cold and she could only faintly sense the slow beat of blood through him. That meant that she had been in Torpor for a while but thankfully not years as he was still alive. She would come back to him, if he could hold out. For now she needed to satisfy herself. Even suppressed, her Beast was roaring in her mind, rattling against her will.

Swinging legs over the edge of the bed she took a stumbling step toward the door. Opening it to a small antechamber she found her phone. Punching buttons she managed to find one that would work. It only rang once before a breathy voice answered.

“I need you. Dressing room 5.”Letting the phone snap shut she made her way out of her rooms and wove her way through the back of her theater to the stated dressing room and waited.


Arnold's eyes pop open. No, that's not right. They'd never closed. He just begins seeing through them again. He barely has time to wonder what happened before the memories come flooding back. They had been in battle with Bethem. Suddenly he was seized with intense pain, and all he could do was watch as his Kindred allies were all consumed with the same seizures. Whatever it was had pushed its way through his skin and into his body. Boiling his vitae, even as his Beast launched itself upon the attacking agent. He had fallen to the ground, incapacitated but still clinging to life as he flitted in and out of consciousness over the course of the battle being waged within his blood. Finally, after three nights, the superior might of his blood won out against its opponent. Arnold Culler had endured.

He sits bolt upright, looking around. He didn't recall being moved and this place was completely unfamiliar. He hears a noise, and looks over to find Konstantin. Emaciated, jerking around, mumbling in Russian. Then the hunger washes over him in a wave. It was time for breakfast.

He stands laboriously to his feet, and notices a slip of paper float to the ground. He picks it up, and takes note of the phone number. He'd have to give it a call. Later of course. He exits the closet, getting his bearings, and trudges wearily out onto the street.


Writhing agony would be an understatement if used to describe the pain that wracked through the body of Dr. Lazarus. There were teeth present, not docile -- but sharp and vicious; they were gnawing on him, eating away at his undead flesh. It did not end there, suddenly he was on an operating table being dissected, opened up, flayed open so that his dead organs were on full display. Behind his emotionless mask the doctor hollered in pain.

Suddenly it was over; Lazarus opened his eyes and saw the familiar interior of his secure office. The artificial light from the bulbs overhead were not helping his bewildered state of mind. He could still feel the remnants of his torpid nightmares, and he was not pleased. He was uncertain as to what had happened, but one thing was certain -- he was hungry and the poor inmates of Amber Hill Asylum had no choice but to quench his thirst.

The doctor slammed the door of his office open, the echo from which sent a resounding echo down the sterile halls. The poor souls behind those locked doors knew that Dr. Lazarus was coming, and with that knowledge came the all too familiar fear that they had learned to live with ever since entering those walls…


Benton could feel his body screaming in agony. It felt like his skin, muscles, and bones were fighting each other, pulling and pushing in opposing directions. He sees a hooded figure, a centurion with a spear standing over his twisting, tortured body. PUNISHMENT IS ALL A SINNER DESERVES. The words are as clear as a bell ringing inside his own skull. He had felt this pain before, he remembered it. He remembed rolling across asphalt at bone shattering speed and the sunlight shining on a silver cross. He remembered the life flowing out of him on a dark highway and the moonlight glinting off his killers fangs. He had died twice before and he knew, HE KNEW he was going down for the last time.

Suddenly, however, his torment ended. Black found himself laying on dirt staring at open sky. God had saved him from death a third time. He shook himself as he tried to stand his muscles protesting in pain. His skin was dry and cracked like old leather. What the hell happened? Where am I? Memories started to flow back. He had slept on the outskirts of town, in the earth as one with God's creation. His weeks in Sacramento, so far unproductive. Maybe The Lord was punishing him for not fulfilling his role with more zeal. Almost as quickly as the memories, Benton Black felt the hunger. Stronger than he had felt it in a long time, almost since the first night of his Requiem.

It was like being Embraced again. Reborn again.

He staggered over to the bushes where he had hidden his bike. As the engine roared to life in echo of the Beast's hunger, Father Black headed back toward the more populated areas of town. He had work to do, but first, he needed to feed.

Lord send me a sinner to punish.


HISSSSSSSSSSSS

The large snake wraps its coils around the Man, squeezing the life out of him. The more the man struggles, the more the Beast constricts. The Man struggles; the Beast takes over.

This the way of it. For now and forever until Final Death.

Final Death came this day, in the sewer, in the dark. Jayant felt it as it washed over him, ripping and tearing through his dead flesh, eating away at the nest of the Beast.

The Beast done what needed to be done to survive. It took control. Instinct. Pure, unrelenting instinct. That is the way of the Beast; the Naga at Jayant's soul.

Instinct.


Konstantin comes to consciousness in a small, dark place, alone. He has no idea how he got here - last he remembered, he'd been in the sewers with several other kindred and three other individuals, one of them apparently some sort of wizard based on how he had channeled fire from a torch to launch an attack. The vampires had been seeking Bethem. Then, suddenly, his body had been racked by burning pain.

Konstantin remembered that pain, and he remembered the dreams that followed... dreams of burning and of his body being torn apart. Checking himself in the dark, he realized at least some of that wasn't far from the truth... he felt weak, and his skin felt dry and cracked, his flesh shrunken. He also realized he felt hungry.

Feeling around, he also found a piece of paper on his chest. He grasped that in his hand, and was pleased to realize that the knife he'd tied to his wrist was still there.

Eventually Konstantin found his way to a door and managed to open it. He'd been stuck in a closet... by whom, he had no idea. He looked at the scrap of paper and saw numbers... probably a phone number. He groaned. He hated phones, like most other modern technology. He stuffed the paper into a pocket of his jacket.

Konstantin went out into the night. He didn't know what night it was, or what had happened to his companions, or to Bethem. He also didn't know where he was, but he still had his senses about him, and he remembered where he'd been. Taking a few moments to get his bearing, he set about onto his way to the last place he'd been taken by other kindred prior to the trip to the sewers... the Ordo Dracul chapter house, where he'd been introduced to the Prince.

The trip would have been easier in the form of a bat, but he was too hungry right now to risk the expenditure of Vitae. He still wasn't sure about this domain's feeding rules, not having gotten a chance to feed. Perhaps whomever he found at the chapter house could assist him with that, or put him in touch with someone associated with the Prince.

Konstantin stuck to the shadows as much as possible. By the time he found his way to the chapter house, he was not only hungry, he was angry. A couple times he'd come close to attacking some passerby, holding off his Beast only just barely. Getting to the chapter house didn't help his mood any. The door was locked, no lights were on, and nobody answered. He couldn't keep his frustration in check... strong even without calling upon the blood, he kicked in the door easily and strode inside to find... darkness, and no sign of activity.

Looking around by the little ambient light, he noticed he was standing in something, some substance on the floor. He bent and touched it, brought it to his nose... he didn't have to taste it to recognize the ash left by the passing of one of his kind. He knew that substance well, having reduced more than a few vampires to that substance over his long Requiem.

He noticed one area that was fairly well-lit, down the hall. Inside, he saw a glass tank full of water and plants, and a large, ugly fish. His beast urged him to dine on the fish's blood, but he knew his blood was too strong for him to subsist on the blood of animals. He also saw pieces of art, and comfortable chairs, and numerous cases full of shelf after shelf of books... and two more sets of ash.

Apparently everyone here had been destroyed.... Bethem? He didn't know. He didn't really care, either. His limited experience with the Order of the Dragon had not been good. But he was frustrated to find a dead end, and he knew he wasn't in shape to fight at the moment.

About to turn to leave, something caught his eye.... a standing suit of armor, holding a spear. The armor was ornamental only, and would have been too small for his wide, muscular frame even if it had been functional, but the spear... he looked it over with the trained eye of a warrior and a crafter of weapons. It was sturdy, the blade sharp, the wood solid. A bit fancier than he favored, but it would have to do.

He wrenched the spear free from the armor, bringing the segments making one arm clattering to the floor. The metal gauntlet was still attached to the spear, so he peeled it away and tossed it to the floor as well.

Looking around a bit longer, to make sure he hadn't missed sign of any other kindred, Konstantin went back out into the night. He knew he'd have to take even greater pains to stay hidden, carrying a spear around like this, but that was fine. He wouldn't need it when he finally found someone safe to feed upon, but this way at least he'd be ready if something came for him. He was in a weakened state, but his Requiem wasn't over yet, and he would do everything he could to assure it continued even longer.


After some help from Hector, Jayant manages to feed on some lowlife's the city has to offer; and focuses the blood to work it magic in stitching his dead flesh whole once more.

Well, more acceptable, at least.


Anatoly sat bolt upright, releasing an inhuman roar as he climbed back atop the plateau of consciousness. The memory of the fire and heat beat down upon him, and he thrashed his arms about before him, falling back and writhing in his bed once more.
His beast ran rampant in his mind, ignoring the sight of Anatoly's darkened and calm hotel room, stampeding over his focus at the memory of the flame. It took all his mental fortitude to roll over, thus falling off the bed, and then reach out and grasp a bed post and the leg of a nearby armoire. The phantom pain of the fire of his dreams coupled with the newfound pain in his gut, the pain of hunger, gave the beast greater strength.
The floor screeched as Anatoly convulsed and pulled the bed and armoire closer together, refusing to let his grip go lest his hands drag him elsewhere. A long series of grunts followed by dry retching and he could feel his clarity starting to return. The grain of the floorboards and the ends of his hair came into focus as he beat back his beast.
With a long sigh of relief Anatoly rolled back off his knees and collapsed, staring up at the ceiling. His muscles ached, his ears rang, and colored spots were creeping across his vision even as he blinked to fight them away.
"I'm ok." He said, his voice grating in his throat.
Natenska's head was just visible at the edge of the barely opened door, her eyes wide and her face pale. "What happened?" she asked in a barely audible squeak.
Anatoly slowly rose. He winced through the stinging as each of his joints bent and then straightened. He retrieved a hair tie from the armoire and pulled his hair back. As he quickly pulled his slacks and shirt on over his sleeping attire, not bothering to straighten anything or put on a tie, he answered "A very, very bad dream.". He then crossed the room and bent over a side table, glaring into the mirror the hung above it. He looked dead, like a Halloween mask almost.
He pushed past Natenska and made his way to the hotel room door. He slipped into his shoes and pulled on his coat before announcing"I'm going out." over his shoulder and dashing out into the night.