(Night by Gaslight) Chronicle I: The ancient house returns

[Isikien]

London, 1852​

The All Night Society is in full swing, A fresh supply of blood migrates from all directions for employment and fortune. The slums continue to overflow with vagrants and people just looking to get by. Even if you are unbound, that is to say, are not part of a covenant, you have plenty of places to feed from the prying eyes of the vampire underworld.

​

Speaking of which, London's vampiric underground government could not be more stagnant and typical for its era; painfully conservative. The Dyad of the Lancea Et Sanctum and the Invictus sit at the top of the vampiric pecking order.

There's a twist though, the Invictus passed effectively a "right to stay" decree at the turn of the 19th century. What this means is that two other covenants, were no longer outlawed so long as they would abide by the cities laws:

• Do not breach the masquerade. Mortals not privy to the All-Night Society must not know of us.
• Crusades and blood hunts on Kindred motivated by religion are forbidden, unless sanctioned by the Prince.
• For each new embrace, a fledgling MUST be introduced to Elysium in a week of their induction into Kindred society. Breaching this rule will forfeit the fledgling's 'claim to the blood'.
• New Kindred from outside the court must also come to Elysium within a week or will forfeit their claim as new Fledglings do.

The Sanctum protested most of all to these laws but had to relent; the Invictus was just too powerful and hell bent on rebuilding the Camarilia in earnest.

For the Ordo Dracul and The Circle of the Crone, the new rules were to their liking. Sanctum was keen on blood hunting ideological opposition and Invictus protection was convenient to them. The city exists in an uneasy peace under the management of one woman and her advisors.

Her name is the Hag Prince. Last night, she was wrong.​

Lady Margaret Ashfield is a gregarious vampire. Her detractors call her the 'Hag Prince' under the belief that she dabbles in Cruac and flirts with the Choirs of the Crone.

​

Many Kindred believe her to be capable of some level of precognition, some claim there is another behind her, hands as gnarled as a witch, that pulls her strings. Whatever the case, she generally has a keen and decisive mien as befitting a Prince of a domain.

Last night, she was wrong. She needs help.

July 8th, 1852​

Tonight, you have all received a letter from the Prince. On the back of the leather envelope is a monogrammed black rose, the symbol the Invictus has chosen to represent its hegemony over all the covenants in London.

The letter is inked by the Hag Prince herself, a direct summons to her Elysium north of Hyde Park, a rather sizeable manor house in West London. She compliments each of you for your various skills in a transparent bid of flattery, before getting straight to the meat of her summons.

"I summon thee with urgency, as is my right as Prince of this domain. A delicate situation has presented itself on our most coveted streets, a fratricide of kindred unlike no other transpired on the 7th of July which has required your expertise in the matter."

"I choose to divulge these details in private with you at my estate which you must travel to post-haste, should you have to travel far we will accommodate for your stay and provide nightly nourishment for your time there."

"Should you succeed, you and your sires (or blood relatives, should any claim guardianship or kinship to you) will reap the benefits of your effort. I will provide you or your estates with a favour, so long as it is reasonable and politically sound."

---​

You have your summons. Now its time for you all to introduce yourselves. Go wild and describe yourself, your trappings, your estates etc with abandon.

• What is your Requiem? For what reason do you rouse from your morbid day-sleep?
• What is the Mask; the nature you show those around you?
  • This is a way of restoring your Willpower. Remember what your actions are and prompt the storyteller accordingly for Willpower replenishment.
• What is your Dirge; your true nature underneath?
  • This is another way of restoring your Willpower.
• What physical item, place or person do you value as a representation of your humanity that you have shed? What is the one thing that reminds you of what you once truly were? That prevents The Beast from gnawing at your being?
  • Write this next to your 6th Humanity dot, or next to your 7th if you are a lofty Ventrue.

 

[Epiphany]

"You seem troubled, little sister."

Chen held a leather envelope in her hand, embossed with a stylistic black rose. Formal and impressive to the causal eye but nothing of especial importance. To the society she'd joined, though, such a letter held grave meaning. Certainly its message carried great import, a call she couldn't refuse or ignore without consequence. Not that refusal had crossed her mind. Chen knew her worth, knew what her service could do for her Sire, for the Lancea. Being useful justified her existence, especially on these foreign shores. It might even earn her a more certain place some day, when she was ready to execute on her own agenda.

"It's no matter, sir," Chen replied in Cantonese, lifting her eyes at last from the envelope to gaze at the face she knew she'd see. Tseng Lianjie wore a white apron, stiffly starched in contrast to Chen's own dark servant's clothing which was rather rumpled at this point from days of harder use. The young Chinese man looked earnest, curious about the young woman who'd come to loiter outside of the Golden Laundry service he owned and operated. Perhaps vague memory or something deeper was responsible for the way his eyes lingered on her without a hint of unfortunate interest.

"I've an appointment that I must keep. Good evening, sir." Chen bowed and turned from the face of her unknowing son before he realized how much seeing him moved her.

She fled into the night, letting the pungent scents of London's streets wash over her razor-sharp senses, banishing the memory of Lianjie's warmth. Though Chen had fed the previous night, it was all too easy to feel any human was mere food and that was a sensation she couldn't stand to have around her oldest boy. Thankfully, the strong smells of English bodies were an effective antidote. By the time she crossed Hyde Park, she was her calm, disciplined self once more.

The manor of the Hag Prince was as spacious as any belonging to a personage of English power. It would have been relatively easy to pass herself among the servants who staffed such a place, and indeed she'd done so scores of times in scores of other places. But not here. There were vampires here, with powers and abilities beyond her ken.

Besides, she'd been invited.

Bearing the invitation in her hand, Chen presents herself at the manor, still conscious enough of the prejudices of the day to choose the servant's entrance for her arrival. At which point she waits for admittance to the Prince and the opportunity to prove her worth to the great and good of London.

 

[Vivian Pierce]

A jab.

A parry.

A step back.

A swipe.

A sudden strike.

A twist.

Then the clanging of metal on ground.

The rapier settled lifelessly on the ground as two figures stood still, one disarmed and the other standing with her own rapier at pointed at their throat.

"Good form as always, lady Pierce," the disarmed man said fondly, a smile on his face. "You've really improved your form over the past few years. I'd say you're almost as good as me now."

The lady Pierce offered a practiced, courteous smile at those words, her rapier lowering from her opponent's throat. "Please, ser Collins. As much as flattery might get you, we both know that the student has long-since surpassed the teacher," she teased back, earning a chuckle from Collins.

Before he could respond, however, a servant stepped into the room and cleared his throat gently to catch Pierce's attention. A dark brow lifted towards the man. "Yes, dear Weston? What is it you require?"

"A letter for you, my lady," Weston said as he stepped closer, offering both a bow and an envelope.

The envelope was taken in hand and inspected, though her gaze didn't linger long on the rose decorating the leather. "Hm... Most likely another suitor, trying to win my favor in an attempt to be unique," she sighed. "Thank you, Weston. Have some tea brought up to my room, would you?"

The servant gave a bow once more, before leaving the room to do as he was bid. Pierce glanced back to Collins, who was already gathering his things. "Do be safe on your way home, ser. I will be quite unhappy with you, should anything happen to you."

This earned another chuckle from the sandy-haired man. "Well, we couldn't have that. I'll be sure to keep my nose clean on the way back," came his playful response, before he rose, waved to Pierce, and made his way out of the room.

Now alone, Vivian's pale features hardened, and another glance was cast down to the letter in her hand. The Hag Prince. There were parts of her that were equally hopeful--and equally anxious. With a mystery to solve, the woman began to glide her way out of the room, and through her family's estate.

Grand arching windows overlooking the London streets were passed, the velvet curtains framing each window as lush as the next, with the rugs and small bits of furniture lining the hall matching their opulence. What few servants she passed on her way up the majestic staircase in the main hall offered bows as they passed, but were spared no glances by the lady of the manor.

It wasn't much longer before she stepped into the expectedly luxurious room she dwelt in, the space filled with bookshelves, furniture made of dark wood, paintings, and another series of arching windows that were cordoned off by thick curtains. Waiting for her there already were a lit lantern, and a tray of tea with a cup prepared already. The letter was first set down on the desk beside the tea, before she took the rapier in her hand, and moved to store it in its place.

Her hazel gaze lingered on the sword already on that display rack, examining the familiar work of iron with its polished sheen, the engraved artwork on the blade, the beautifully crafted handle and crossguard... A hand brushed gentle, almost reverent fingers against the handle for a moment, sifting through the flood of memories and feelings it always brought on--until eventually that, too, ended, and she forced herself to return to the matter at hand.

The letter.

Pierce marched her way back to the desk and settled down on the dark, high-backed chair before it before ripping the envelope open and examining the contents. Definitely from the Hag Prince, and definitely addressed to her... And so much flattery. It was almost enough to make the noblewoman roll her eyes. She wanted something, and she was desperate to get it. This could play well in her favor.

She wondered for a moment how much she could get away with plying from the woman.

It was a good opportunity, though. Favor from the Hag Prince, with other opportunities to follow. She'd have been a fool to turn it down, even if she couldn't manage to turn this fully to her benefit.

Urgency.

Well, she'd fed recently; the thief she'd caught trying to sneak into the manor saw to that. Her other 'obligations' could have been put on hold, as well. It was getting somewhat tiring, anyway. Now, with her mind resolved, Pierce rose and made her way back across the room, towards the wardrobe beside her bed.

First, clothes to be worn for the next few days were prepared in the case of necessity, and packed neatly into a suitcase. Then, comfortable sparring clothes were exchanged for an elegant, flattering dress of deep blue. It hugged features in all the right places, an obvious result of a tailor who had years of experience at their work. Her ink black hair was pulled up into a somewhat messy bun, with strands let down so as to frame sharp features. Jewelry was forgone entirely; this wasn't exactly a social affair, and if she was going to stay there multiple days, it would only take up valuable space.

With preparations complete, she took her suitcase and made her way back to the main lobby. Along the way, she encountered Weston once more, who she hailed and gestured to have follow. "Prepare a carriage for me, dear Weston. I am being called away on important business; if you see Father, tell him that I am venturing to West London to pursue what I hope to be a promising and lucrative lead on a new business arrangement, and that I shall return soon. That is all."

Another bow was given from the man, who went off to do exactly as bid. Some time later, Weston returned to report that a carriage was waiting outside the residence for her. Thanks were given, and ways parted. Pierce stepped outside, and into the carriage sitting in the street. The driver was directed towards Hyde Park--then further still to the manor the Hag Prince resided in.

An uneventful trip, one which the gentlewoman was grateful for. Without fuss, she stepped out of the carriage with luggage in tow, gaze held up onto the manor before her for a few moments. A pseudo-sigh passed her ruby painted lips, mentally steeling herself for whatever was to lie ahead.

Then with a confident posture and a poised, graceful gait, Pierce moved to enter the estate, and whatever might await her on the other side of its doors.

 

[EldritchTiefling]

Dr. Florian Tucker was a busy man. He enjoyed that profoundly- idleness was wasted time in his mind, which was why it was so rare finding him seemingly resting in his study at the hospital. Recently he had been absorbed in matters outside of his public rounds to oversee the patients there, and instead he had to assist his mentor with his own research. He didn't complain, as it was an honour to have the chance to help him with such delicate tasks, but he still was quite happy to go back to the normalcy of his beloved London Hospital.

As he turned the page of the medical journal he was reading, there was a knock at the door. "Doctor Tucker, there's a letter for you." He recognised the voice as one of the younger nurses, but he was more curious about the timing. He looked outside the window, and naturally the sky was dark. Curious time to receive a missive. He got up from his desk and went to open the door, and as he expected, just outside there was the small frame of the young nurse Jones. He fed on the hospital staff on very rare occasions, but there was something in her frame, so thin that it was almost sickly, that somehow awakened his interest. No matter though- he knew better than to indulge his whims, and it wasn't like he hadn't eaten already.

His moments of staring flustered the young woman (he noted that she seemed surprisingly perceptive- another thing that interested him), which prompted her to give him his letter after a quick exchange of "good evening"s, and to quickly get away to return to her duties. He didn't mind, especially when he saw the rose on the envelope. The Hag Prince? He couldn't say he ever had any true relationship with her, so he just couldn't wait to read what was in it. After all, had it been something bad for him, he doubted he'd have known with just a letter.

Its contents were... unexpected. The flattery was both amusing and worrying- why would a Prince feel the need to flatter him like this, when he was by all vampire standards someone so young? The question is answered by the end of the letter, and Florian smiled. For him, the opportunity of looking into a mystery like this, a fratricide of kindred like no other at that, was enough of an incentive to accept the invitation just as much as the reward itself. He prepared his doctor bag, focusing more on items to take samples than human medicines, and then prepared a small bag with a change of clothes and the like. He never needed much.

He left word that he would be out for important business for the next while, and that he wouldn't be available for normal business. This wasn't entirely unusual for him, and when he used his mentor's name as an explanation, it was accepted naturally. He went out in the night, many people still present in Whitechapel Street- in the recent years he observed many immigrants arrive, and many of them didn't really have a place to go to as night fell, so it was common these days. He got a public carriage to drop him off near the address indicated on the letter, dusted off his neat but otherwise entirely unremarkable clothing, and walked up to the door of the manor. Saying he was entirely at ease would be a lie, but he was curious, and that was enough.

 

[Isikien]

Let us contrive to have all current members posting to meet up prior to entering The Hag Prince's domain, just outside the Elysium. It's been a while since I've posted so lets get warmed up (or eh, colded up, cause yknow... vampires)

The streets near the Hag Prince's opulent estate stretch out in a more, open and spacious fashion. In the evening gaslight, stocky men wander towards their lodgings and away from the gated community that they have been working in.

The gates of Elysium are inconspicuously watched by the one constant in all vampire courts; the harpies. The Prince dearly loves her Harpies, as they are sharp of wit and watchful in their gossipy vigil outside the gates. Typically, they chat outside brazenly in the dark amongst themselves, the women masquerading as street performers to deflect accusations of whoring from the prudish Victorian public. 'Ladies' after all, should not be out after night. But these 'ladies' care not for mortals and their gender roles.

Harpies are usually found inside the Elysium, fermenting gossip and real-politilk prior to and following the Prince's court. These Harpies are an exception in that they prefer being outside in the ebb and flow of the night. They beguile the human public not with their sexuality, but raw charisma, scathing barbs and tricky use of vampiric powers.

Right now, they have caught the attention of a group of young soldiers, who are laughing at another rendition of the 'Parrot and the Princess'. One of the Harpies has taken to wearing an antiquated dress and is animatedly acting as the Princess in this street play, attempting to mockingly court another vampire.

Whilst this awkward exchange of love happens between the two actors, a third member of the troupe has used a discipline to change into a Parrot. In this animal form, he sits on the perch contradicting and stymying the romance of the two lovers with double entendres and cutting punchlines, which leaves the soldiers laughing uncontrollably.

As the conclusion of the street play finishes, the soldiers are gleeful clapping, none the wiser of the Parrot's supernatural literacy and comprehension.

Following a curtsy and a wave of the hand, the harpy that played the lovestruck Maiden strides towards your group confidently. She waits for the crowd to be ushered away, then flashes a telltale sign of her fangs. There's a seriousness to her tone despite the playful levity of her facial expression.

"Good evening to you all. She waits for you." She pauses, then gestures openly. "We play the fool on the streets, but you must pay respect to the laws of Elysium behind the curtains of the Masquerade, for Elders and Neonates alike."

"No physical abuse of members. No use of disciplines. By all means, berate someone not of your covenant, but it must never progress to a conflict of Beasts. Do you all consent?"

--------

By all means add characters and situations to the environment and setting around you in your responses. Don't worry too much about matching the lore, Requiem is designed to be open ended and different in each story depiction of its vampire society. Have fun!

 

[Vivian Pierce]

Closed.

Pierce's gaze lingered on the closed gate before her, hand falling back down to her side after the attempt of opening it. She fumed mentally at having been stopped so firmly by something so... inanimate. Outwardly she was as composed as ever, but she lamented her lack of ability to stare the gate down, and force it to open.

Instead, she turned her attention away, and towards the street play nearby. It took only a moment of studying before remembering what she'd heard about the harpies, and their overwatch of Elysium. Perhaps they were the ushers of the Estate, their guides to the Prince? She supposed, if she were in the Prince's place, she might employ much of the same. A bit surprising, perhaps, considering the Prince's thinly veiled desperation in her letter, but Pierce stuffed away her impatience, hands folding instead as she waited beside the gate.

As the performance went on, her gaze flicked over towards the other nearby: a small foreign woman, who might have been perfectly inconspicuous if not for her heritage. Mousy, she seemed, in both appearance and body language. Was she here for the performance... Or for Elysium? That piercing stare lingered, eventually broken by the arrival of another carriage.

Her stare settled instead on the man who stepped out and approached the gate, not bothering to hide the fact that she was studying him for the moment. There was less to tell about him from an immediate inspection. Unremarkable, unassuming, yet the body language wasn't entirely unconfident. There was the bag he held, as well. The same as her luggage case, perhaps? But it was smaller. She'd seen the kind typically associated with medical staff, but couldn't say for sure. For all she knew, he simply liked the style.

When the performance finished and one of the women peeled off to make her way in their direction, Pierce's attention once more shifted to settle on her instead. The flash of fangs confirmed her suspicion: one of the guardians of the Elysium. A light curtsey was offered in response to the greeting, only for it to be followed by the laws of the Estate. She'd heard them before, but she supposed it was simply procedure for those who had never stepped foot in the Elysium before.

"I consent, my lady," she offered, before glancing over to the other two once more. She'd spoken to all three of them. Were they all here for the same thing, she wondered? Or was this all simply coincidence? She opted for the former for the moment, out of not wanting to put much trust in coincidence. "It seems introductions are in order, as well. I am Vivian Pierce, of the clan Ventrue."

She then looked back to the harpy, hands smoothing over her dress, taking care to make sure their conversation wasn't likely to be overheard by any passersby. "Assuming that we have all arrived for the same thing, I must confess surprise that our audience is kept waiting for something presented as this important. I could only assume that the Prince is busy, currently? Is there anything else that you might be able to tell us of what awaits us inside? Or of this fratricide?"

 

[Epiphany]

The performance and spectacle of the Harpies was rather shocking and scandalous, or would be if Chen were a decade or two younger. As it was, she found their tawdry gyrations and teasing innuendos tiring instead. China in its way managed to be even more conservative than England, and if it had its own equivalents to these...women, they weren't the sort Chen would ever have associated with when she lived. Much had changed since her death but not that much.

Thankfully, this wasn't Chen's first time to Elysium. It might be the first time she'd come alone, though. In the absence of her Sire, it was all too easy to settle into her customary inscrutability. As long as she didn't interrupt someone, she could observe and wait for an opportunity to press her invitation. Thankfully, the vampire society seemed at least marginally more egalitarian than Victorian society was.

As was evidenced when Vivian Pierce addressed her. Chen tilted her head in open curiosity, then bent her head in dutiful respect. The other woman certainly looked like the sort who usually received respect, if not demanded it.

Then the Harpies approached and announced their rules. Chen bowed in acknowledgement, then raised an eyebrow when introductions were made. A bit surprised but willing enough, she said, "Chen Tseng. Khaibit. Or Mekhet if you prefer."

At Vivian's observations on being made to wait, she only smiled. "It is the way of rulers to remind people, in ways obvious and subtle, of their power. But knowing more of what she wishes can only benefit us. A good question, Miss Pierce." As a Ventrue, the other woman would likely take lead if they indeed all shared the same assignment. That being the case, it was never too early to be agreeable.

 

[Isikien]

The harpies smirk at the exchange between the two of you.

The Maiden is known as Clarissa. A warped and crude degenerate at timed, she is rumoured o saddle the line between Crone rituals and Invictus guilds, like the Hag Prince herself.

She shoots a dark look at Chen, one of attempted condescension. She would not dare say anything to your face, no courtier would dare violate the sanctity of the Hag Prince's degree of apolitical cooperation. Especially not in the presence of a Pierce and a martial member of the Sanctum.

She merely sniffs and opens the gates. Odiously, though Pierce passes through unmolested, Clarissa, with a bigoted flourish, folds her hands into the sleeves of her coat and backs away whilst managing short bows. The Charlatan thinks herself funny for her racist pastiche of a Mandarin servant.

---

The gardens are quiet, with wilting red flowers housed in sectioned off areas. As you approach the main hall, a fellow is escorted off the premises by two toughs. He cries out in cryptic alarm.

"But my dear benefactors! We are lost. The seven are reaping! We are all to be harvested! Through the eyes of the ugly and cold machine of London."

This is a Kindred who is handsome and well kept, with a neat suit and a mustachioed countenance. However, he bays like an undignified madman at his assailants, wailing his protests into the night.

---

The core mechanic of this game is a combination of two values rolled as a d10 dice pool.

This man might be saying something interesting, so you can roll Occult + Intelligence to discern his ramblings. There's no modification, so add those two stats together, roll the amount of d10 equivalent to that number and count any 8 or above on each dice as a success. 10s can be rerolled again infinitely. You only need one success for a successful skill roll.

If you use a different stat combination, you might turn up a different answer entirely. So make some alternative stat or skill suggestions to get different answers or details.

 

[Vivian Pierce]

A slight bow of Vivian's head in acknowledgement followed Chen's introduction. She wondered for a moment what the Prince wanted from a woman of foreign persuasion--but she supposed if this was a Mekhet woman, she had her uses in subterfuge and staying hidden.

Perhaps she could be of use, if the Prince truly was summoning the girl alongside her.

The following words earned a glance from the corner of her eye, one almost of unamusement, though it was fleeting as her gaze shifted over towards the other man. Silence. A brow perked his direction before the harpy opened the gate for them, catching her attention. She would find out who he was, sooner or later. If not, then he mattered none. Simply another drop in the ocean.

As they passed through, and the harpy's movements directed towards Chen caught her eye, Pierce slowed and cast a withering glare over towards Clarissa, one of obvious distaste. "Surely this is not always how you treat guests to the estate, my lady? I would think there to be more of a modicum of respect given than this."

The withering glare lingered for a moment longer, before the noblewoman turned and lifted her head again, gliding back down along the path further through the gardens, and towards the estate proper--only to narrow her gaze and tilt her head in question at the raving man. His words were curious. Before her turning, she might have once simply dismissed the man for being a lunatic. Now, however, she wondered just what he meant. Was there something to his words? Or was he simply truly a lunatic?

She puzzled on that as she stepped towards the estate once more, humming to herself in thought.